


On Your Mark

by veronamay



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Assassins & Hitmen, Italian Mafia, M/M, On the Run, Protectiveness, Virgin Jensen Ackles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-02-05
Updated: 2007-02-05
Packaged: 2017-11-27 21:11:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 28,300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/666533
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/veronamay/pseuds/veronamay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jared is a high-priced assassin working for an underground agency called Admin.  When he starts shadowing his latest mark, he gets caught up in a situation beyond his control, and it's up to him to keep the man he's been paid to kill out of the line of fire.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I've borrowed concepts from _Grosse Pointe Blank_ and _The Bourne Identity_ , but unfortunately John Cusack's incredible sense of black humour and Matt Damon's ... _Matt Damon-ness_ are not included.
> 
> [](http://wendy.livejournal.com/profile)[ **wendy**](http://wendy.livejournal.com/) , [](http://nu-breed.livejournal.com/profile)[**nu_breed**](http://nu-breed.livejournal.com/) and [](http://lemmealone.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://lemmealone.livejournal.com/)**lemmealone** have so much awesome beta-fu it's beyond description. Seriously, ladies: I hope you all know how much you rock. Also, to everyone who put up with my teasing and whining over the preceding three months: thank you. For sticking around, and for not coming after me with Jared-sized sporks when I kept saying, 'I'll be done in a couple of weeks!'. Your enthusiasm is half of what made me keep going with this. I hope it's worth the wait.
> 
> This fic now has a gorgeous [cover](http://pics.livejournal.com/veronamay/pic/0004s6ek), created by [](http://mkitty3.livejournal.com/profile)[**mkitty3**](http://mkitty3.livejournal.com/). Please [drop by](http://mkitty-03.livejournal.com/234253.html) her LJ and give her some feedback.

_Saturday, July 23, 2006_  
10:25 a.m.  
Dallas, TX 

The minute he laid eyes on the guy Jared thought, _This has got to be a mistake_. There was no way this was his guy. Jared sat in his car with the file across his lap, staring from the full page color photo to the guy sitting at the sidewalk café six feet away, and he couldn't make it add up.

He went over the details again. Name: Jensen Ackles. Age: Twenty-eight. Physical description: six-one, one-ninety, light brown hair, hazel eyes; faint scar on right shoulder blade, but otherwise no distinguishing marks. Occupation: physical therapist at the outpatient clinic at Medical City Hospital. Marital status: single, never married.

Jared knew the file couldn't be wrong. Admin didn't make mistakes with the data. It was just strange; this guy didn't much resemble any of the photos in his file. Jared flicked through the rest, pausing now and then to study them, and once to let out a low wolf-whistle. They were high school and college yearbook shots mostly, family snapshots, and a couple of catalog ads that looked about ten years old. He seemed to have gotten camera shy after that, and Jared had nothing recent to go on except a badly blown up copy of his license from the DMV. That was where the change was evident. The guy in those early shots was smoking hot, to the point of being pretty. The person banging his knees on the tiny café table, scowling through thick glasses into his non-fat half-caf caramel mochacino, was not.

Well, okay – people didn't stay hot forever. But Jared wondered why this Ackles guy went around looking like he did when he could still be a total chick magnet if he put in a little effort. Maybe he'd take the time to ask him.

Before he killed him, natch. It'd be a bit difficult otherwise.

\- - - - - x X x - - - - - 

_Saturday, July 23, 2006_  
10:36 a.m.  
Dallas, TX 

He had a routine for the special jobs, the ones that called for something more than two rounds to the back of the head. He always was willing to put in the extra effort for the clients who wanted a little finesse; and of course he was happy to pocket the extra cash those services cost. Jared had a talent for the specials. They called for a little ingenuity, a little imagination, a little risk, and he enjoyed a challenge. It was like the profiling exercises they used at Quantico, only he got to put them into action. If he thought of it like that – a training exercise – it didn't bother him much.

Jared's rules for the special jobs were simple. One: he got to know the mark. Learned his routines, habits, preferences. He became a second shadow, until he knew the mark so well he could predict what he'd do without even thinking about it. Two: he chose a suitable method of execution, something that fit the situation. There was no point in planning a heroin overdose for someone who'd never so much as smoked a joint; that was the best way to get the cops interested, and _that_ would be the end of his bonus. Three: he planned for _everything_. Jared made his plans, then he made backup plans, and backup-backup plans, just in case he needed them. He always knew at least two exit routes from every kill site, and at the first sign of trouble, he aborted. He'd learned from experience it was easier to start from scratch than to try and fix something that went wrong at game time.

Four: he never, ever got caught.

Jared was good at Rule Number Four. Very good. He'd been doing this job for near on six years, and he'd never been so much as fingerprinted. The cops didn't know he existed. He had a perfect sales record on the specials, and that was reflected in the many zeros that decorated his bank balance. Swiss, of course. God bless their devotion to financial non-disclosure law; God knew _he_ did.

Jared watched Ackles constantly over the following week, familiarizing himself with the guy's life. He broke into his house and set up the usual surveillance equipment on the second day - phone taps, sound, camera, internet monitoring – and started collecting information. He followed Ackles to work and sat in the waiting room at the physio clinic, reading _GQ_ while watching him in the reflection of the windows. He took notes, and discreet photos, and slowly started to piece together a picture of Ackles' life.

What he learned puzzled him, and Jared didn't like puzzles. He re-read the file a dozen times, trying to make sense of it, and he kept coming up blank. The mark was completely average – nice guy; good at his job; a quiet neighbor. He had plenty of friends, if his email and SMS correspondence was anything to go by, all of whom seemed to like him just fine. No steady girlfriend, but that wasn't a crime (although Jared still wanted to know what the deal was there; Ackles was _seriously_ hot when he wasn't dressing like a geek and hiding his face behind those fucking Coke bottle lenses). The question that was bugging Jared was: why did somebody want him dead?

He didn't usually go in for this kind of deep thought about his marks. Generally speaking, people deserved what they got, even if what they got was him leaning over them while they gasped their last; he didn't lose much sleep over it. Employees with moral hang-ups didn't last long in this profession; there wasn't room for what-ifs and whys and second guesses. You did the job, or you got out of the way of someone who could.

Jared could do it. He was _good_ at it. His marks never suffered; half the time they never even knew what was happening until it was already over. He figured that every successful job he did was one less fucked-up job in someone else's hands. He didn't take any particular pleasure in killing people; it was just what he did. He'd learned long ago to detach that part of his conscience, humanity, whatever; had shoved it in a box and forgotten it was there. He didn't miss it.

Also, there was the tiny detail that he didn't really have a choice.

From the minute he'd filled out the enlistment forms in the recruiter's office in San Antonio, killing was what he'd been trained for. He had no legitimate job history after leaving the army, no qualifications, no credit rating, and a suspiciously large fortune in a foreign bank account he couldn't explain to the authorities. Six years later, living entirely under the radar, he was pretty much beyond normality, just marking time until he turned over enough jobs to set him up for early retirement.

He'd kept mostly to himself when he started working for Admin, quietly doing whatever jobs he was given, and garnering something of a reputation for finesse. Soon he had more work than he could properly handle, and while that made him a little sick to think about (because sure, he did the killing part, but what about the fuckers who were _paying_ to have it done?) it also meant he got to choose the jobs he wanted. Which was how he wound up holding the Ackles file, staring at the mark sitting in that stupid fucking cafe, wondering who on earth could possibly want to kill such a goddamned normal guy.

A week later he still had no answer to the question, but he had a greater knowledge than he'd ever wanted to have about the range of ugly, sloppy, neutral-toned sweater vests available for a man Ackles' size. The man needed a fashion consultant, stat, to save Jared's sanity if nothing else.

Jared decided the situation required deeper investigation. If something wasn't kosher, he was better off knowing before he really got started. That was what he told himself, anyway. It had nothing to do with clear green eyes and freckled skin and a smile that could light up a room. Nothing to do with curiosity about thick glasses and hunched shoulders and quick glances that avoided the eye. Nothing at all.

\- - - - - x X x - - - - - 

_Monday, July 31, 2006_  
2:48 a.m.  
Dallas, TX 

 

Jared didn't sleep well that night. Random images of Ackles kept appearing behind his eyelids, bringing to mind all of his unanswered questions. When he woke himself up tossing and turning for the fourth time, he gave up and got out of bed. It was just past three a.m. when he made his first cup of coffee.

The night was chilly; not cold exactly, just enough of a nip in the air to make him wish he'd put on a sweater over his t-shirt and sweats. He took a seat in front of the monitors from habit, squirming in the motel's too-small armchair, staring blankly while the caffeine seeped into his system.

... Was that something moving in the bedroom?

Jared squinted at the monitor, trying to decide if it was just a shadow from the tree outside the bedroom window, or something else. His eyes were still gritty from the little sleep he'd gotten; he rubbed at them and blinked, trying to focus.

It wasn't a shadow. Just Ackles turning over in his sleep. Jared relaxed and stretched his legs out in front of him, stifling a yawn with the back of his hand—

—and froze, eyes widening as soft noises began to filter through the speakers.

It was top of the line equipment; crystal-clear Dolby 5.1 surround sound, and it was now reproducing the hushed, rustling, furtive sounds of Jensen Ross Ackles jerking off.

Jared scrabbled for the remote control and tightened the focus of the bedroom camera, moving closer to the monitor even though he couldn't really see anything with Ackles hidden under the sheets. He'd been witness to more late-night sex acts than he could easily remember; this was nothing new, part of the job just like everything else he saw. He'd never found it all that hot to watch people fucking in the first place. But looking at Ackles slowly writhing and humping into the mattress (because he was, Jared could tell even without a detailed visual), he was starting to see the appeal. He saw it even more when Ackles pushed the sheets down to his hips and turned over onto his back, his bare upper body limned in moonlight, chest rising and falling in unsteady rhythm as his hand crept under the covers.

 _Fuck_ , but he was hot: solidly muscled, smooth-skinned, and a mouth that was made for cocksucking. Perfect, just about. Jared'd seen a lot of pretty people in his day; he had no idea why this guy in particular grabbed his libido by the balls, but he had, and trying to ignore the free show in front of him was impossible.

Jared had installed the camera on a mirror on the wall facing the bed. It was the logical place: middle of the room, high enough to get good coverage, the camera easily hidden behind the ornate frame. Right now, though, Jared only cared that it was focused squarely on the bed and it had night vision and an excellent zoom lens. He let himself look as he'd been wanting to do for days, taking in the flawless face and body that Ackles hid from public view, lurking behind thick-lensed glasses and flat-combed hair and the kind of ill-fitting, nerdy clothing that made Jared's fingers itch for lighter fluid and matches. Sweater vests, for fuck's sake. Baggy chinos. Oxford-blue button-downs two sizes too big and buttoned all the way to the neck. Jared wanted to drag him into Armani or Calvin Klein and fit him out from head to foot. And then bring him back here and strip it all off him. With his _teeth_.

He was so caught up in his imaginings, he didn't catch on for a second when Ackles's soft moans grew louder. Jared's eyes snapped into focus and he saw what was possibly the hottest image, like, _ever_ : Ackles, flat on his back, one hand slowly pumping his cock while the other went between his spread legs. The angle prevented Jared from seeing clearly, but he could guess what Ackles was doing. His already interested cock went to diamond-hard stiffness in zero point six seconds.

"God," Jared moaned aloud, hand moving automatically into his sweats to pull out his cock. The sound of his own voice startled him; he flinched, half expecting Jensen to hear it. ( _Ackles_ , his brain tried to insist, but his latent romantic streak wasn't having it. You didn't call a man by his last name when you were watching him and jerking off. Jared believed in etiquette.) Reminded that he was the voyeur here, Jared paused, an unfamiliar pang of guilt stabbing at him.

Jensen chose that moment to shift position again, rolling up onto his knees, thighs spread wide, still jerking himself slow and hard. The new position gave Jared a perfect view of his back, and now he could see Jensen pushing the fingers of his other hand inside himself. Deep, deep inside, making him hiss and arch, his body visibly trembling. All thought of stopping left Jared's head; he had one hand wrapped around his cock and the other under his balls before he drew another breath. The next time Jensen thrust into his hand, Jared was right there with him.

He bit his lip as he stroked, his free hand circling down and back, lightly teasing, not sure if he wanted to go there, tempted anyway because Jensen – God, Jensen made it look like the hottest goddamn thing ever. He was moaning and rocking, forward to thrust into his fist, back to twist on his own fingers, every muscle sharply defined from the strain of holding his position. Jared tightened his fingers around his cock, dragging his nails along the vein underneath and shuddering, toying at the slit. He couldn't take his eyes off the monitor, wholly fixated on the man he was supposed to kill. Jared moaned, low and guttural, his strokes quickening despite his need to make this last. Jensen was close; his movements were becoming shorter, jerky, and he had to pull his fingers out to support himself on the bed as he push-pulled in double time. The slick _pop_ as he pulled free sounded loud as a gunshot in the silence of Jared's motel room; Jared sank his teeth into his lip, and he couldn't stop the orgasm that thundered over and through him, shaking everything up and leaving him a panting, twitching mess sunk low in his chair.

He licked his sticky fingers clean without thought, his eyes still fixed on Jensen, his stomach tightening in reaction as Jensen cried out and threw his head back in a drawn-out spasm of pleasure. He sank down onto the bed, sprawled out all loose and relaxed, and Jared wanted—

He wanted to go over there, right now, and take up the empty space on the other side of that bed.

The thought was like a bucket of cold water being dumped over him. Jared flinched and sat upright, staring down at his softening cock in dismay. What the hell was he doing, romanticizing a fucking _mark_? Was he getting so lame that he could be distracted from his job by nothing more than a pretty face? Christ, Tom would die laughing if he knew. Jared scrubbed his hands over his face and hair and pulled hard, trying to get his head back in the game. He was better than this. He was a fucking professional and he was being well paid to do a job, and so far he had nothing to show for it but a lot of half-assed profiling and a fast fading post-coital buzz. Tomorrow he'd have to make a move, or Admin would start asking questions.

Jared got up and went over to the kitchenette for fresh coffee, emptying out his now-cold first cup. As he walked he caught a final glimpse of the mark, curled on his side, knees drawn up as he slept. Jared's step faltered; then he set his jaw, got his coffee and turned to the desk where his laptop waited. He had work to do.

\- - - - - x X x - - - - - 

_Friday, August 4 August, 2006_  
7:15 p.m.  
Dallas, TX 

The one absolutely hard-and-fast unbreakable rule Jared had for all of his jobs, special or drive-by, was this: he didn't get involved. It was none of his business why somebody wanted this guy dead; he was just supposed to make sure he _was_ dead by the end of next week. It sounded good when he laid it out in his head like that: no fucking around, just get the job done and get gone.

Unfortunately, his head didn't appear to be in control of ... well, anything.

Ordinarily, Jared would be in the middle of his planning phase by now, choosing a setup and getting his equipment together. Instead, despite his early morning promises to himself, he was still shadowing the mark. Still wrestling with his fucking _conscience_ , of all things, trying to find out what was so heinous about the guy that he deserved to sleep with the fishes. Not to mention trying to avoid memories of the previous night. He didn't want to ask Admin for more info; that would raise questions he didn't want to answer.

So Jared kept his head down and stuck to Ackles like a second skin, and at the end of the second week his deadline was looming and he still had absolutely zip. Ackles was so ordinary, he was almost _boring_. He went running in the mornings, worked all day, came home in the evenings and watched TV or movies, or messed about online. Once, he'd met a friend for a drink after work, but he'd still been home by seven. As far as Jared could see, the most incriminating thing about the guy was that he actually cooked his own dinners from scratch. He didn't even try to download free porn, for God's sake.

Not that he needed to, given the things he was apparently used to doing for himself in bed. (But Jared wasn't thinking about that, because – hello, job to be done, here. He was focused. Utterly focused. Right.)

God, he was so fucked.

Jared sat in his generic motel room three blocks away from Ackles' house, watching the monitor showing the video feed from the kitchen. Ackles was cooking dinner again: beef stroganoff, or something like it. He moved around the kitchen with comfortable ease, handling a large knife to dice beef and vegetables in a competent manner that made Jared break out in a sweat. Jared looked at his cold, overdone turkey TV dinner and sighed, pushing it aside. He needed to get his ass in gear and finish this job. It was messing with his head.

Inside the house, the phone rang. That was new; Ackles didn't get many calls on his landline. Jared sat up straighter and turned up the volume on the sound feed, eyes fixed on the centre monitor as Ackles picked up the phone.

_"Hello?"_

_"You're being watched, Jenny-boy."_

_"I – what?"_

_"Right now. Someone's following you. Watching everything you do, everywhere you go. They've probably tapped your phone, too. I'd be careful if I were you."_

_"Who is this? What the hell are you talking about?"_

_"Remember what I said. Maybe think about leaving town for a while, Jenny-boy. Take it as a friendly warning from Kim – for old times' sake."_

_"Kim? Who's—"_

_Click._

Jared stared at Ackles staring at the phone in his hand. He guessed both of them were thinking pretty much the same thing right now.

_... the FUCK?_

\- - - - - x X x - - - - - 

_Saturday, August 5, 2006_  
6:20 a.m.  
Dallas, TX 

God, Ackles was a hotass first thing in the morning.

Jared knew he wasn't supposed to be taking notice, but it was kind of hard not to. This guy was like a compilation of all of Jared's favorite things, and the more he watched him the worse it got. Ackles had to be a done deal by Friday or it'd be Jared's ass on the line, literally, but he just couldn't seem to make himself _care_.

That phone call bothered him. They went through the now-usual morning routine of Jared jerking off while watching Ackles roll out of bed and head out for his run, looking incredible in sweats and a t-shirt. Jared wondered yet again why somebody hadn't introduced him to the concept of contact lenses, or at least glasses that would let him work the shy-quiet-type kink. He went over the file again while he waited for Ackles to return, looking for any mention of someone named Kim. He drew a blank, just like the first two times he looked, and finally he gave in and dialed Admin on his cell.

"Code, please."

"Kilo-alpha-zulu-two-yankee-five," Jared said. "Good morning, Chad."

"Jared, you asshole, you owe me twenty bucks from that Spurs game last week," Chad said without preamble. "Pay up or leave the country, man."

"I'll send a check today. Promise."

"Check, my ass. I want a bank transfer by close of business - _my_ time, not yours – or I'll sic Mikey on you."

"Bitch, please. Mikey couldn't catch me on his best day and you know it." Jared grinned, knowing Chad was probably scowling into his headset. "But I'll do it today, since you asked so nice and all. Put me through to Tom, will you?"

"He's not in. Wife's in the hospital, pneumonia or something. Christian's covering for him."

 _Fuck._ "Okay, give me Chris. And if Tom calls in, give him my best for the wife."

"Will do. Hold on."

Chad put him on hold, and Jared endured nearly a minute of Justin Timberlake claiming that he was bringing sexy back – which, _hell no_ , was all Jared could say to that – and then he heard Christian's rough drawl on the line.

"Jared. What's up?"

"Hey, Chris. How's tricks?"

"Fine. What do you want?"

Jared rolled his eyes. Ever since they split about six months back, Chris'd been colder than a witch's tit. He had no idea why, since Chris'd been the one doing the dumping. Jared guessed he should've seen that coming. Chris never really got over his bitterness at being stuck behind a desk; he wanted to be out doing jobs, had asked upper management time and again for a trial period. They'd never given him the green light; every time he asked, the reply had simply been: ' _Unsuited for field work; application denied_ '. The fact that Jared was out every other week on a new file, getting mark after mark without a hitch – well, it didn't do much for their longevity as a couple. And Chris was an aggressive little bitch when he was pissed.

Whatever. Jared was over it. He didn't want to deal with the fallout of all that right now, either. Chris would come out of his snit in his own time, or else he'd marinate in it till he turned into a sour old prune. Wasn't Jared's problem any more, thank God.

"Got a question about this job I'm doing right now. Ackles, Jensen, file number 790124. You know anything about it?"

"I'm accessing it." Chris hummed under his breath, making the hair on the back of Jared's neck prickle. Jensen – no, _Ackles_ did that sometimes, usually when he was getting dressed. Made Jared horny as hell. "Looks pretty cut and dried to me. What's the problem?"

"He got a call last night from some guy called Kim," Jared said. "Told the mark he was being watched, warned him to be careful, maybe get out of town. He sounded—" Jared hesitated. "He sounded kind of mobbed up to me. Are we maybe stepping on someone's toes here?"

Christian was silent for several breaths, long enough for Jared to get nervous. He bit his lip and watched the monitors, waiting for Ackles to reappear. He was due back from his run any minute now (sweaty, flushed, t-shirt sticking to that fucking awesome body that nobody but Jared apparently gave a shit about, and oh boy this was _such_ a bad time to be thinking about that).

"Chris?" Jared said finally. "Should I—"

"Shut up and listen." Christian cut him off, his voice deadly quiet and hard as a rock. "You forget whatever you think you heard on the phone and you finish this job _today_. I don't care how," he said louder, overriding Jared's attempt to speak. "Just get it done and get on a flight back here by midday, Jared. Understand?"

"What the hell ..." Jared began, bewildered.

"Do. You. Understand." Chris sounded like he was chewing on broken glass. "If you say no, Jared, I will cut you loose right now. Black mark."

Holy shit.

'Black mark' was what they called it when one of Admin's employees went rogue, grew a conscience, refused orders, whatever. It meant he'd be fair game for anyone who wanted to take him out, no holds barred. Jared hadn't been in the game all that long in years, but he'd made enough enemies to know he wouldn't last a week without Admin's protection.

"I understand," he said slowly, making sure to enunciate; this call was being recorded, he was betting his life on it. He heard Christian's slow exhale through a haze of shock.

"Okay. I'll see you this afternoon." Chris was suddenly businesslike again, as if nothing had passed between them. "Two-thirty, Jared. Be here." He hung up without waiting for an answer, and Jared was left listening to an empty dial tone while he tried to figure out what the hell was going on.

He wasn't stupid. Christian's reaction pretty much confirmed his suspicion that Ackles was connected to the mob somehow, though whether they were actually after him, Jared couldn't tell. Hell, maybe the mob was the client – although they usually handled this sort of thing in-house, and Admin was wary of dealing with organized crime. Everyone kept themselves to themselves in Dallas these days, ever since Kennedy ate the magic bullet, and that was the way everyone liked it. Most people didn't even know there was still a Mafia presence in town. On the rare occasions the two organizations clashed over the same mark, Admin usually stepped aside. Unless, of course, there was a serious amount of money involved. And given Jared's commission for this job, he thought suddenly, the fee was very fucking serious indeed.

So, to put two and two together: he had about six hours to kill his dream guy, and he had to do it without getting caught by the mob or the cops. And he still had to satisfy the client by making it look accidental. Great. Just _peachy_.

Speaking of Ackles ... Jared checked his watch. He should be back by now, even if he'd gone the long way through the park. Jared watched the monitors for another minute or two, barely blinking, and debated going to look for him. It was a stupid thing to do, breaking cover in full daylight; but on the other hand, if he was going to have to dance around the Mafia—

He froze in the act of reaching for his wallet and keys, a thought striking him square in the gut. _Someone's following you,_ Kim had said. A friendly warning.

What if he hadn't meant Jared?

"Oh, fuck me," Jared whispered, and raced for the door.

\- - - - - x X x - - - - - 

_Saturday, August 5, 2006_  
6:30 a.m.  
Dallas, TX 

He found Ackles – _Jensen, fuck it all_ , no point trying to lie to himself any longer – lying behind a hedge down by the river, beat to hell and mostly unconscious, gasping for air. He'd been worked over pretty good; it looked like they used a baseball bat and some old-fashioned brass knuckles, and that got Jared's blood up. He hated unfair fights. Hell, this wasn't a fight so much as a thrashing – a warning less friendly than Kim's. Jared had time to wonder just what the hell he was getting into when Jensen stirred and opened his eyes. Or tried to, anyway. One was swollen shut already, and the other was bright red with blood. He wasn't quite as pretty anymore: his cheek laid open, those whore's lips split and crusting with blood, his nose possibly broken, though Jared didn't know about that for sure. He knelt beside him and slapped his unmarked cheek lightly, trying to bring him round.

"'hap'n'd?" Jensen muttered, peering up at Jared as if he were blind.

Jared remembered the god-awful glasses, saw them lying smashed on the ground a few feet away, and shrugged. Fuck it – he wouldn't be able to use them for a while anyway with his face half-flattened. He heard a stifled moan as Jensen tried to sit up and mentally added cracked ribs to the tally.

"Stay still," he said. "Don't move. I'm going to check you over."

It occurred to Jared that this was the perfect opportunity to get this job done. It was early; there was no-one around, and Jensen was in no condition to hold him off. Jared could snap his neck and be halfway to the airport before the body started to cool.

Moment of truth.

Jared stared at his hands, one between Jensen's shoulder blades, the other high up on his chest. He could feel Jensen's heart pounding between his palms, strong and steady now that he was breathing more easily. He saw the curve of his jaw, long eyelashes evident now with those amazing eyes closed, freckles standing out clear on shock-pale skin.

A cold, clear voice inside him spoke. _Kill, or be killed. Those are your options._

He slid his hands up a few more crucial inches. Jensen turned his head, opened his eyes, started to speak—

—and Jared stopped. He couldn't do it. _He couldn't fucking do it._

They were so very, very screwed.

Jensen coughed, then groaned as the movement shook his damaged ribs. Jared tried to ease behind him, lift him up to clear his lungs; he jabbed his knee into Jensen's side in his haste, and Jensen's eyes rolled back in his head.

" _Fuck_."

Jared raised Jensen's shirt to see what he'd hit, and swallowed hard at what he saw. They hadn't just used a bat; there was a knife wound just above his right kidney, deep enough to be seriously painful. He wondered if it was a killing stroke gone awry. If so, Jensen must've put up a hell of a fight; there'd been at least two of them, at a guess. He glanced at Jensen's knuckles. They were red with blood, the skin split and raw. The sight made him grin viciously. Bastards hadn't gotten away easy, then.

He took off his button-down shirt and used it as a makeshift pad to slow the bleeding. Then he eased Jensen into his arms and stood up, staggering a little under his weight. Jensen moaned but didn't wake up. Jared hoisted him into a more comfortable position and started back to his car, thankful for Jensen's preference for early-morning exercise and the cover of trees and bushes along the path.

\- - - - - x X x - - - - - 

_Saturday, August 5, 2006_  
6:45 a.m.  
Dallas, TX 

Jensen came out of his swoon a few minutes after Jared got him inside the motel. He groaned and tried to turn over on the bed, hissing in pain. Jared was in the bathroom wetting towels to clean him up when he heard him stirring.

"Hey, hey, don't do that," he said, crossing over to the bed, towel in hand, pressing his other hand to Jensen's chest. "You've got cracked ribs and a bitch of a knife cut in your back. Don't go thrashing around like that, okay?"

Jensen stared up at him, panting, eyes wide.

"Who the hell are you?" he rasped. "Where am I?"

Jared sat down on the bed and started to clean the blood from Jensen's face.

"A Good Samaritan," he answered casually. "I found you in the park. We're in a motel room not far from your house."

Jensen went stiff under his touch, peering owlishly at him with suspicion written clear on his face. Jared ignored the look and folded the wet towel, starting on his neck.

"How do you know where I live? Why didn't you take me to a hospital? What—"

Jared tossed the towel on the ground and lunged, looming over Jensen's body, grasping his wrists and pressing them into the mattress.

"We don't have time for bullshit," he said flatly. "Someone's after you, and from the looks of that knife wound they nearly got you. I didn't take you to a hospital because that'd be the best way of letting them finish the job. And I know where you live because I've been watching you for the past two weeks."

Jensen swallowed, closing his eyes briefly. Jared waited, watching him, trying to ignore the position he was in. If they didn't have time for bullshit, they _really_ didn't have time for his libido. He gritted his teeth and told his cock to pipe the fuck down.

"Why are you watching me?"

Jensen's voice was low but clear, and if his gaze was unfocused on Jared's face, it was at least steady and direct.

"Those guys aren't the only ones trying to kill you," Jared replied. "I'm just better funded than they are."

Jensen was still for a moment; then he started struggling like a wild thing in Jared's hold, ignoring his injuries, trying to twist free. Jared simply leaned over him and held him down, preventing him from hurting himself, and waited until he ran out of breath. Then he eased back and sucked in a breath at the fresh blood staining the sheets beneath them.

"Don't be stupid," he said. "If I'd wanted to kill you, you'd be dead by now, you ass."

Jensen tried to rear up and bite him; Jared pulled on his wrists, dragging his arms up the bed until the pain from his ribs made him cry out.

"I said, don't be stupid," Jared repeated. "I'm not going to hurt you. I am going to help you, but only if you stop being an asshole. Okay?"

He watched as Jensen turned the words over in his mind, looking for a double meaning, wondering whether to trust him.

"Okay," Jensen said at last, and Jared let out a breath, unaware he'd been holding it. He eased away, turning Jensen onto his side and lifting his shirt to inspect the fresh damage.

"Christ, what a mess. Stay there," he ordered, getting to his feet. "You're bleeding all over the damn place."

He returned from the bathroom a minute later with the rest of the towels, pressing one firmly against the cut to try and slow the bleeding. Jensen grunted and flinched, but didn't fight him; Jared counted that as a victory. He pulled the towel away after a few minutes and inspected the wound.

"That's gonna need stitches," he said.

Jensen twisted his head around to look at him.

"No hospital, you said."

"No hospital," Jared agreed. "I'll do it myself."

"The _hell_ you will," Jensen said, his voice even. "Take me to a walk-in clinic."

"Sure thing. And the first thing you'll do is call the cops, and while they're bumbling around with 911 protocol whoever's after you besides me will send someone into the clinic wearing a white coat and they'll slit your throat with a scalpel. Did you want to be buried or cremated, by the way?"

Jensen exhaled shakily and turned his face away.

"Get on with it, then."

"Attaboy." Jared patted his shoulder and reached for his first aid kit, sitting ready at the end of the bed.

"Wait." Jensen held up a hand, and Jared huffed impatiently. Jensen looked at him, his mouth a firm line. "What's your name?"

His name. Jared hadn't told anyone outside Admin his real name since before he'd first enlisted. He existed inside the shells and skins of a dozen pseudonyms, each one so familiar to him they felt like people he knew. To be asked to name himself for himself after so long a time felt beyond strange.

"Jared," he said at last, the word sounding odd on his tongue. "My name's Jared."

"Okay then, Jared," Jensen said, and turned away again. "Hurry up and do it so I can start forgetting about it."

Jared's hand was steady when he picked up the needle.

\- - - - - x X x - - - - - 

_Saturday, August 5, 2006_  
7:12 a.m.  
Dallas, TX 

Afterward, Jared sat on the edge of the bed and handed Jensen some ibuprofen and a bottle of vodka from his stash – Swedish, the good stuff. Jensen toasted him with the bottle and drank deep, not even grimacing at the kick. Jared tried not to find that insanely hot and failed miserably. He watched Jensen's lips sliding over the neck of the bottle, his throat moving as he swallowed, his eyes half-closing as the alcohol began to sink in.

Jensen's eyes snapped wide open again, focusing on something over Jared's shoulder. He lowered the bottle and swiped the back of his hand messily over his mouth.

"What the fuck is _that_?"

Jared twisted around to follow his gaze. When he saw what Jensen was looking at, his stomach dropped. Oh. Right.

"Surveillance gear," he said evenly. "Wireless CCTV network and audio feed direct to your house. I told you I'd been watching you."

"Watching me." Jensen's gaze dropped to the bottle in his hands; he licked his lips, and Jared bit back a groan. Now was _so_ not the right time. "Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why me?" Jensen threw his hands in the air. Jared lunged forward to save the vodka, but Jensen didn't notice. "Why the hell is everyone suddenly so bent on _killing me_?"

"Wait." Jared stared at him, his mind whirling. "You mean you don't _know_?"

"Of course I don't fucking know!" Jensen yelled, and wow, for a guy who didn't even kill wayward moths he had a filthy mouth. "I'm a goddamned glorified masseur! I _recycle_ , for fuck's sake!"

"I know," Jared said absently. "You should rinse your beer bottles before you put them out, though." He frowned, gazing narrowly at the floor between his feet. "You really don't know what's going on?"

"I don't know _shit_ ," Jensen snapped, but he didn't meet Jared's gaze.

Jared eyed him for a moment, taking in his hands clenched on the vodka bottle, the faint color creeping over his cheeks, obscuring the freckles. He pitched his voice low and just a bit threatening.

"Then who the hell is Kim, and why was he talking about 'old times' sake'? _Jenny-boy_?"

Jensen's mouth was a thin white line, his eyes dark and flat with denial. Jared grinned without humor.

"You suck at lying, my friend. You better drop that shit and start giving me some truth, or you'll end up dead and I won't lift a finger to stop it. It's my ass on the line too; has been since the minute I brought you here instead of snapping your neck."

The stalemate held for a long moment, Jensen determinedly silent and Jared staring him down. Then Jensen sighed and eased back against the pillows, leaving the vodka wedged between his thighs.

"Sure. Fine. Whatever," he said, his words slurring. "You and your ass can owe me one."

Jared choked, his mind going to places it had no business being right now, but Jensen was already talking, so he told his cock to shut the hell up and started listening.

\- - - - - x X x - - - - - 

_Saturday, August 5, 2006_  
7:14 a.m.  
Dallas, TX 

"You know much about JFK?" Jensen asked. "Specifically, the assassination?"

"About as much as the next guy," Jared replied. "I didn't study it in assassin school, if that's what you mean."

Jensen's mouth quirked, but he didn't follow up on the joke. They'd moved to the chairs in front of Jared's monitors; Jensen was rapidly sobering up, gripping a mug of coffee, fingers interlaced around its girth. He sat carefully upright in the chair with his legs stretched out, keeping as much pressure as possible off his ribs. Jared was forced to keep his own legs pulled in or risk tangling them together. It made him nervous, self-conscious in a way he'd forgotten.

"There've been theories floating around for years about the shooting, even before the Warren Commission ended," Jensen said. "General consensus used to be that Oswald did it, but there's a strong argument in favor of the FBI and the mob."

"Yeah." Jared shifted; he knew all this already.

"I _know_ it was the mob," Jensen said, ignoring him, staring into his cup. "They had Hoover over a barrel, and they wanted Kennedy gone to get brother Bobby and the law off their backs. Oswald pulled the trigger, but that was all. He was a loose end before he even got to Dallas, and that fucking wannabe Jack Ruby was good at tying those up."

"What's your point?"

Jensen looked up then, a sardonic grin on his face.

"The FBI knows how to tie knots too," he went on. "They might not have been able to pin anyone down for the shooting and the crap with Hoover, but they got their own back in Texas anyway."

"What the hell are you talking about?" Jared asked.

"Carlos Marcello was convicted of an assault charge in 1970," Jensen said. "He was the head of the New Orleans syndicate, and controlled Dallas from there, but for the six months he was in prison he wasn't controlling shit. By the time he was out everyone in Dallas was dead – the Piranios, the Civellos; every one of them quietly taken out without anyone being the wiser. Organized crime genocide, sponsored by the government. There wasn't so much as a third cousin left alive anywhere in the city."

Jared frowned, unsure what to believe. He'd never been to Dallas before; he had no idea of the history of the place, and no way of knowing if Jensen was telling the truth. There was one thing he knew for sure, though.

"Sorry to break it to you like this," he said, "but if what I've seen lately is anything to go by, the Dallas Mafia is alive and kicking."

"I'm aware of that," Jensen said, his mouth twisting in a bitter smirk. "I wish to God I wasn't."

"Stop being so fuckin' cryptic," Jared snapped. "What's any of this got to do with you?"

"The Civellos were the family reporting to Marcello when he was busted," Jensen said. "The FBI was pretty thorough; they got everyone, like I said. Except one. Although they can't be blamed for missing her; they didn't know who she was."

"She? Who the fuck is _she_?" Jared ran his hands through his hair and yanked hard. "Jensen, I swear, if you don't—"

"Donna Joan Shaffer," Jensen said precisely, his voice sharp. "She was born in 1960. Her mother was a working girl; her father was Joe Civello. Joe owned the club her mom worked in, but she never told him about Donna. When the shit went down with the Feds in '71, Donna found herself orphaned without even knowing why. One night her mom just didn't come home."

He swallowed, throat clicking audibly.

"So Donna went out looking for her, at the club, and saw the ... the aftermath. She saw the Feds, and the guns, and the cleanup crews. She went home and waited until someone from Child Services came for her, and she never said a word. She didn't want to end up like her mom, sprawled out in a bloody mess on a nightclub dance floor. But she never forgot, either. Her mom told her stuff, about the Kennedys, and Castro, and Sinatra, and she remembered all that too."

He looked at Jared, eyes clear and direct.

"She told them to me in my cradle. Those were my bedtime stories when I was growing up."

"Civello," Jared repeated, staring at Jensen in shock. "The Civello family, you said before. Holy _shit_ , Jensen."

"I'm a minor descendant, illegitimate, from a female line," Jensen said, "but it's a direct line of inheritance. In the eyes of the current family, I'm a threat." He smiled grimly. "Guess someone knew about Mom after all."

Jared closed his eyes and breathed, trying to stay calm. He had the fucking Crown Prince of the Dallas Mafia sitting right next to him, they were about to become targets of the two most powerful underground organizations in the country, and he hadn't even had breakfast yet.

"Well, fuck," he said.

\- - - - - x X x - - - - - 

_Saturday, August 5, 2006_  
7:20 a.m.  
Dallas, TX 

He stared at Jensen for a long moment. He was already getting over his shock, factoring this new information into the escape route half-formed in his head, calculating how much harder it was going to be for him – them – to get out of this in one piece. Jensen stared back at him, apparently unselfconscious, a direct look that made Jared want to drop his gaze. It was too open, too frank ... too much, right now.

"We're getting out of here," he said. "Can you walk?"

"Yeah."

Jensen levered himself out of the chair, one arm across his ribs for support. Jared began to pack his gear, long practice making him quick. He'd have to leave most of the equipment, but that was okay. It wasn't like he'd need it again.

"We need to be gone before the family can trace you to me. If they found out about me, it would be ... bad." He hefted his duffel over his shoulder and jingled his car keys. "Let's go."

Jensen moved slowly toward the door, casting a single look over his shoulder at the monitors. Jared felt himself soften at Jensen's momentary look of loss; then Jensen turned back, his face set, and Jared acknowledged a reluctant respect. If he was telling the truth, Jensen was being forced to literally run for his life, leaving everything else behind except the clothes he stood up in and trusting his safety to the man who'd been hired to kill him. It was a lot to ask of anyone.

"C'mon," Jared said, checking their route to the car was clear through the front window of the room. "Let's get you somewhere safe."

"Let's," Jensen agreed with a tight smile, and followed Jared out the door.


	2. Chapter 2

_Saturday, August 5, 2006_  
4:36 p.m.  
I-35, TX

They followed minor roads out of Dallas for several hours, putting as many miles as possible between themselves and the city while avoiding the major highways. Jared entertained himself with sidelong glances at Jensen, dozing in the passenger seat, while he turned things over in his mind. He looked hard at Jensen's story, trying to see falsehoods, weak spots, glorious bullshittery. Problem was, the story had a ring of truth to it that suggested Jensen believed it, if nothing else. And it fit too well with the rest of Jared's information. Hell, he'd been wondering all along why anybody would want such a normal guy as Jensen dead. Jared knew he didn't have all the answers – who the hell was Kim, for a start? – but the idea of Jensen as a dispossessed Mafia prince wasn't as crazy as it sounded when you added everything up.

Jared turned onto I-35 eventually, keeping to the speed limit and signaling every time he changed lanes. He knew a couple of places they could hole up closer to the border, to catch their breath and form some plans, but they had to get there first. He didn't suppose it'd be as easy as dialing 1-800-MAFIA and officially disclaiming Jensen's interest in becoming a mob boss. They had to find a way to prove that Jensen wasn't a threat to anyone except people with a lot of shoulder tension.

Jensen stirred, scrubbing a hand over his injured nose and hissing in pain. Jared jerked his eyes back to the road and cleared his throat.

"Where are we?" Jensen asked. His voice was husky with sleep.

"Just outside San Antonio," Jared replied. "We'll stop there for a night or two, give you time to rest up." He looked over briefly. "I got a few favors I can call in."

"I bet you do," Jensen said, not harshly. "Well, wherever we end up, make sure there's a steakhouse nearby. I could _murder_ a rib eye right about now."

The minute the words were out of his mouth he flushed a deep red, and he looked away. Jared wondered why, until he saw Jensen's guilty expression, looking at him apologetically. He rewound the conversation a bit and Jensen's words hit him afresh, and he nearly choked trying not to laugh.

"Sorry," Jensen said, nearly stammering. "I didn't mean to – I mean, it just – oh, hell." He put his hands over his face and sank back in his seat while Jared fought to contain his laughter.

"Dude," Jared gasped eventually, "don't do that when I'm driving. I nearly ran us off the road."

Jensen looked up again, scowling when he saw Jared grinning at him.

"Fuck you," he muttered. "I was only trying to be polite. I didn't want to, I dunno, _offend_ you."

"I'm a hit man, Jensen. I don't do polite unless I'm being paid for it." Jared looked away. "And as it happens, you did offend me. Deeply. I'm a vegetarian, you know. Haven't eaten meat in four years."

Jensen blinked, real horror coming into his face.

"You're fuckin' shitting me."

"... yeah, I am."

Jared kept his face as straight as he could, but he was grinning again despite himself; after a second Jensen caught on and the scowl reappeared on his face. He punched Jared's arm, hard.

"Asshole."

"Bitch."

"Bite me."

"Maybe later," Jared shot back, and suddenly found it hard to breathe.

Jensen met his eyes again and didn't look away. The air in the car seemed thick and warm, like evening in midsummer. Jared felt his blood pulsing slow and heavy in his veins.

"Better watch the road," Jensen murmured, his gaze sliding down Jared's body before he faced forward again.

Jared forced himself to pay attention to his driving as they left the interstate and started to hit city traffic. It was getting on for five o'clock, and he wanted to be settled somewhere out of sight before full dark. But it was getting harder to keep his mind on the job, especially with Jensen sitting right next to him, glancing over every now and then, his gaze so heated Jared could almost feel it heating his skin.

He clutched the wheel tighter and prayed for strength.

\- - - - - x X x - - - - - 

_Saturday, August 5, 2006_  
5:56 p.m.  
San Antonio, TX 

They went to ground, taking a room in the Holiday Inn downtown for the night. Jared knew he'd have to wait till morning to get hold of the man he wanted, and though he chafed at the delay, it was worth it. Steve knew everything that went on in their peculiar little community whether he was supposed to know or not. Thankfully, Jared hadn't ever pissed him off; Steve didn't give a damn about Admin's rules and regs, but if you got on his bad side, that was it. Game over.

Steve wouldn't answer a call tonight; if he wasn't on a job, he was playing acoustic gigs on the club circuit, and either way his phone would be turned off till morning. There was nothing Jared could do but wait.

"So what's the plan?" Jensen asked, coming out of the bathroom.

He'd showered and attempted to shave, using Jared's razor; his face looked more bruised and battered without the roughness of stubble hiding the damage. He was wrapped in one of the hotel's white bathrobes, belted and knotted loosely at the waist, his hair still damp and spiky. He was pale, clearly tired, but better for the activity.

Jared remembered with perfect clarity that Jensen had no clothes except the torn and bloodied sweats he'd been wearing that morning, and those, they'd have to get rid of in the morning.

"Plan?" Jared said blankly, staring at the glimpse of Jensen's chest revealed by the robe.

"Yeah." Jensen sounded amused, warm; when Jared jerked his eyes up, however, he found Jensen looking at him with nothing more than mild inquiry on his face. "We're staying here for a few days – then what?"

Jared shrugged. He had any number of scenarios in mind for their escape, depending on what he could learn from Steve; but it was no use exploring any of them right now.

"Don't know yet," he said. "First order of business is rest and recon; after that, we'll see. You hungry?"

"Um, _yeah_ ," Jensen said fervently. "What's on the menu?"

Jared tossed the room service menu over to him from his sprawled position on his bed. Jensen opened it, grimaced and tossed it back.

"Can't read it," he said. "Just order me a steak the size of a Winnebago and I'm good."

Jared called room service and put in their orders: steak, salad and a baked potato each. Then he wandered over to the minibar and pulled out a beer, tilting it at Jensen in invitation.

"Want one?"

"Better not," Jensen said. "I'm still coming to terms with your fucking vodka." He grinned wryly. "Thank God for complimentary hotel aspirin."

"How do those stitches feel?" Jared took a swallow of beer and set it on the nightstand, shuffling down to sit on the edge of the bed. "Let me take a look."

Jensen came forward slowly, hands on the belt of his robe, and Jared felt the mood change in a heartbeat. He'd been unwinding from the events of the day, the twin enticements of food and sleep beckoning. Now, one glance at Jensen's face, eyes fixed on his own, full of uncertainty and intensity and _want_ \- one glance, and Jared felt wired, jittery, every nerve zinging with adrenalin. He watched in silence as Jensen stopped moving, just outside his personal space. The air in the room felt thick with anticipation.

Jared reached out and hooked two fingers around the belt, tugging gently; Jensen came forward the last two steps, into the space between Jared's spread knees. His hands fell to his sides, unresisting. Jared looked up to meet his gaze, seeing himself reflected there.

"Hey," he said, his voice gravelly with tension. "It's okay."

"I know." Jensen's voice betrayed nothing, but his mouth worked for a moment, as if unsure whether to curve up or down.

Jared brought his other hand up and untied the knot, pushing the terry cloth off Jensen's shoulders. The bandage keeping his ribs strapped provided some illusion of modesty, but not much. Jensen twitched; Jared held the material bunched at his hips with one hand, turning him to the side to look at the stitches. So far, so good: the skin around the wound was warm, but not overly so, and there was no inflammation or redness to indicate infection. Jared pressed a fingertip lightly against the line of black silk; Jensen flinched, but shook his head when Jared looked at him in query.

"Okay," Jared said at last, and Jensen turned away, slipping back into the robe as quickly as his injuries allowed. Jared reached for his beer and drank deep, trying to stave off frustration. This whole deal had been complicated enough when it was just him and his imagination; the addition of a close-to-naked, implicitly willing Jensen took the situation from complicated to fucking _disastrous_. He couldn't afford the distraction, and Jensen was injured, for fuck's sake. It was all so – fucked. Wrong time, wrong place, wrong everything, except Jared was pretty sure Jensen was the right person. Not that it'd do either of them any good.

They waited in careful silence on opposite sides of the room until their food arrived, then dived in with the enthusiasm of men who hadn't eaten for days. Nerves and the aftermath of adrenalin boosted Jared's appetite; he was facing an empty plate before he knew it, and moments later Jensen's cutlery clattered on porcelain for the final time. Jared didn't look at him. He couldn't trust himself to stay away if he saw Jensen sprawled across a bed right now.

He needed a shower, and he needed to think. Might as well do both together. He still had Jensen's blood on his clothes, and he smelled of road dust and old sweat. Jared got to his feet, gathered his duffel, and moved quietly into the bathroom.

When he came out fifteen minutes later, unsure whether to bless or curse the concept of cold showers (because no _way_ was he going to jerk off with Jensen within earshot), the room was dark, Jensen buried underneath the covers of the other bed. Jared crossed the room and dropped his duffel beside his own bed, sliding between cold sheets with a sigh.

"It's okay, you know," Jensen said out of nowhere, and Jared suppressed a start.

"What is?"

Jensen sat up with a pained grunt and turned on the lamp on his nightstand, and Jared saw, too late, the robe flung over the foot of his bed. His mouth went dry.

"You. This. Us." Jensen tilted his head. "The situation's – awkward. I get that."

"Awkward." Jared couldn't stop his snort. "You could say that."

"Yeah." Jensen's mouth quirked briefly. He looked down, picking at the blankets pooled around his waist. "And – I mean, maybe you don't – aren't—"

He gestured back and forth between them, a flush painting his skin pink even in the dim light. Jared stared at him, uncomprehending, until Jensen dropped his hand and eyes, shrugging.

"Anyway. It's okay, is all," he muttered. "I get it. No big deal."

Jared's tongue caught up to his brain at that point, and he couldn't have stopped his next words if he'd tried.

"Remember when I said I was watching you?"

Jensen nodded silently, not looking at him.

"I put three cameras in your house." Jared ticked them off his fingers as he spoke. "Living room – under the corner of the mantel, where the potted ivy hangs down over the edge. Kitchen – in the light fitting on the wall near the fridge, which needs cleaning, by the way."

"Shut up," Jensen said, the corners of his mouth curling up. "You sound like my mother."

"And then," Jared went on, "there's the one in the master bedroom."

Jensen jerked and looked at him, eyes wide and very green as he met Jared's deliberate stare.

"In the frame of the mirror opposite your bed," Jared added.

Jensen swallowed, breath hitching, but he didn't look away.

"Did I mention I sometimes have trouble sleeping?" Jared smiled, a tinge of bitterness to it. "Comes with the job. And when I can't sleep, I get up rather than lie there and look at the ceiling. Means I'm awake at weird hours some nights. Like, say, three in the morning, about a week ago."

Jensen sank back onto his pillows, hands over his face.

"You watched me," he said, his voice muffled.

"I watched you," Jared agreed. "And if you weren't beat half to death, and if we didn't have the fucking _Mafia_ and half the contract killers in the western world on our asses, I'd be doing a hell of a lot more than that right now."

Jensen's hands fell away, and Jared met his gaze squarely, hiding nothing. He watched Jensen flush even redder, hands twitching restlessly, the outline of his cock rising clear and hard beneath the blankets.

"What are you doing to me?" Jensen whispered. "Jared, I want—"

He made a sudden move, twisting too sharply, and Jared heard a smothered sound of pain, a quick inhale.

"Damn it," Jensen muttered, subsiding, and Jared laughed.

"Misery loves company," he said. "Think of it as an incentive to get back on your feet." He turned over onto his side, facing away from Jensen to avoid temptation. "Nighty-night, Jen."

"Bastard," Jensen replied darkly, but he settled carefully down again.

Several minutes later his even breathing slipped into something deeper, and Jared felt the tension fade from the air. They were safe for now; he'd paid cash for the room, and Admin wouldn't know Dean Forrester from a hole in the ground. The rest he could deal with after he saw Steve.

Jared closed his eyes and let sleep wash over him.

\- - - - - x X x - - - - - 

_Sunday, August 6, 2006_  
7:18 a.m.  
San Antonio, TX 

The next morning dawned hot and sunny; looking out the window, Jared could already see the heat waves rippling on the pavement below. He looked over his shoulder at Jensen, still asleep on the other bed, sprawled on his back in a tangled nest of sheets. They'd have to get some clothes for him today. Much as he liked the idea of keeping Jensen naked in this room for days on end, it wasn't exactly practical.

Jensen stirred and cracked open one eye, scowling when he saw Jared watching him.

"What?"

"Nothing." Jared turned to face him, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed. He didn't let his eyes drop below Jensen's face. "How're you feeling?"

Jensen coughed and rubbed his eyes, rolling carefully onto his side and easing up to sit on the edge of the bed. His black eye was in full bloom, deep purple and black extending halfway down his cheek, but the other eye was fading back to white as the blood from broken capillaries drained away. He seemed to move a little easier, Jared noticed, though he still favored his right side where he'd been stabbed.

"I'll live," Jensen said after a minute. "What time is it?"

"Just after seven." Jared pushed off the wall and went over to the small kitchenette. "Coffee?"

"Let me wash up first. Then I'll have about a gallon."

Jensen reached for the white bathrobe; Jared turned away in a hurry, busying himself with sugar and packets of cream while he waited for the water to heat. After a minute he heard the bathroom door open and close, and let his hands unclench from the edge of the counter. Clothes. Yes. First order of business.

He also needed to get a new cell. The landline would do to get hold of Steve, but only once. Jared cursed his own loose tongue; he'd told Chris about Steve once, and he had no doubt Chris remembered the information. Admin was probably watching Steve already.

Well. No point in putting it off; if Steve was being watched, he'd find out soon enough. Jared picked up the phone and dialed.

"Yeah?"

Steve sounded half asleep, his voice gritty and hoarse from singing or smoking or both. Situation normal. Jared allowed himself to feel relief.

"Hey, man. It's your biggest fan," he said. "How y'all doing?"

Steve was good. Damn good. He didn't miss a beat when he recognized Jared's voice, though he must have heard about his AWOL status by now.

"Same place, forenoon, two bells," was all he said, and then the line went dead. Jared grinned and hung up; Steve came from five generations of Navy officers, and old habits died hard.

Jensen emerged from the bathroom a few minutes later, still damp from his wash, looking fully awake despite the dark shadows under his eyes. He made a beeline for the coffee Jared held out, gulping it down like it was ambrosia. Jared leaned against the counter and watched, suppressing his amusement. He knew what Jensen was like first thing in the morning: coffee before everything. The thought caused a momentary flare of warmth in his stomach.

"Better?" he asked when Jensen resurfaced.

"Much." Jensen handed the mug back; Jared refilled it without asking, and Jensen toasted him with it before drinking again. "So, what's the plan?" he asked between sips.

"Information," Jared said. "We don't have any, therefore we need to get some. I'm gonna go out in a while, see a friend of mine who's got an ear to the ground in these parts. Find out what I can about the people on our respective asses."

"Okay." Jensen finished his coffee and put the mug on the sink. "What do I do?"

"You lie low here. Sleep. Watch TV. Rest as much as possible. We have to get you back on your feet in case we have to run."

"Uh-huh." Jensen raised an eyebrow, a smirk curling the corners of his mouth. "That the only reason?"

Jared blew out a long breath at the blatant invitation he saw in Jensen's eyes, forcing himself not to move. They could not afford to do this now. Not yet. Not until he was sure they were a damn sight safer.

"For now," he replied, and watched Jensen's shoulders fall just a bit, eyes darting away. "Hold that thought, though. It's gonna come in handy one day soon."

Jensen looked at him again, a slow smile lighting up his face, and Jared curled his hands into fists behind his back.

"There's more coffee if you want it," he managed to say, almost normally. "I saw a bakery down the block when we came in. I'll get us some breakfast. Don't answer the door to anyone, don't pick up the phone, and stay away from the windows."

"Okay." Jensen poured himself a third cup of coffee and took it over to his bed, easing down to sit propped against the headboard, legs stretched out and crossed at the ankle. "Don't get anything with blueberries. I hate blueberries."

"No blueberries. Check." Jared tore his gaze away from the length of thigh revealed by the careless parting of Jensen's robe and backed away toward the door. "I'll be back in twenty minutes."

"I'll be here."

\- - - - - x X x - - - - - 

_Sunday, August 6, 2006_  
7:44 a.m.  
San Antonio, TX 

He cleaned out half the bakery's shelves in less than five minutes, and was on his way back to the hotel when he spotted a drugstore open early. Ducking inside, he picked up a pre-paid cell and went to the rack of ready-made glasses, flicking through them until he found a pair that almost matched Jensen's prescription. He hadn't said anything, but Jared knew it had to be bothering him to be unable to see properly. The glasses weren't perfect, but they'd do for the time being.

He stopped again a few hundred yards down the block, at an army surplus store squeezed between a florist's and a Haagen-Daaz. It wasn't open yet, but Jared could see a light toward the back of the store, down a narrow hallway. He tapped on the glass door. A middle-aged man came through to the front, squinting suspiciously in the morning light. Jared smiled, channeled his inner frat boy and did his best to look harmless.

"I need to pick up a couple of things for a friend," he said through the glass. "He made kind of a mess of himself last night, needs some new clothes before he can show his face at home. Can you help me out?"

Ten minutes later, having laid out more cash than he could really spare, Jared shouldered open the door to the hotel room and dropped several bags on Jensen's bed.

"What is all this?" Jensen asked, pulling a bag toward him. "Oh, hey, you got cinnamon rolls. And orange muffins. And—" He stopped short, holding a slim case in one hand. He flicked it open and removed the wire-rimmed glasses, staring from them to Jared. "Are these for me?"

"Well, they're not for me." Jared examined his nails, trying to sound casual. "Can't have you running around half-blind forever, I guess."

Jensen slid the frames on, blinking a few times; then his gaze zeroed in on Jared so fast he felt an almost physical impact. He stood there, caught, for endless moments, his heart thudding in his chest; then Jensen blinked again and looked away, and Jared felt like he could breathe again.

"What else ..." Jensen began to say, rummaging through the rest of the bags, and pulled out several t-shirts and pairs of cargo pants in neutral colors, a pair of nondescript lace-up boots, underwear and socks. Jared had picked up a medium-heavy jacket and a sweater – he had no idea where they'd end up, and it was winter in some parts of the world, after all – and a duffel for Jensen, since it wouldn't all fit in his own bag.

"Jared."

He looked up, disconcerted by Jensen's suddenly direct gaze.

"Thank you," Jensen said simply. "This ... it makes a difference."

Jared nodded silently, and took the bag of food over to the counter while Jensen disappeared into the bathroom to get dressed.

When he came out a minute later, Jared spared the single thought that the money had been well spent, and then he pretty much stopped thinking altogether. _This_ was how Jensen was meant to look. Not hidden away behind yards of excess material and bad fashion choices (and yeah, Jared knew that was a little gayer than he usually allowed himself to be, but fuck it, this was _Jensen_ and the guy was fucking worth it). The clothes were simple, khaki cargo pants and a white t-shirt – but they _fit_ , the cotton stretched tight over Jensen's chest, the pants hugging his hips and his hair spiking all over the place. He was a walking advertisement for military porn.

"I knew it," Jared murmured half to himself, unable to look away. "Fucking _gorgeous_."

Jensen caught his eye, and something must have shown in his face because Jensen stopped moving, hand outstretched toward a muffin.

"Thanks," he said again, his mouth quirked in a mischievous smile. "I think."

Jared didn't even think about it; he just took two steps forward, caught Jensen's upper arms in both hands and crowded him up against the wall next to the bathroom. He planted his hands to either side of Jensen's shoulders and leaned in, their mouths a bare inch apart.

"You're welcome," he breathed.

Jensen's eyes were wide, growing darker by the second, and Jared nearly let it all go, could almost taste Jensen on his tongue, he was so close ... and then he felt the way Jensen's hands were shaking on his chest, the paleness of his skin, fine lines of pain bracketing his mouth. He shifted, getting one shoulder underneath Jensen's arm, and a moment later lowered him slowly onto the bed.

"Sorry," he said, clearing his throat. "I – forgot, for a second there."

Jensen lay on his uninjured side and reached out for Jared's hand, tangling their fingers together.

"S'okay. I'm just tired." He grinned. "Rain check?"

"Definitely." Jared squeezed his fingers and let go, not trusting himself to stay close. He went back over to the counter and started loading a plate with muffins, bagels and cinnamon rolls. "Are you hungry?"

"Kind of." But despite all the coffee, Jensen's eyes were closing again. "Might sleep a while first."

Jared put the plate on the nightstand and brushed his fingers over Jensen's cheek, testing for fever. Jensen turned his face into the touch, rubbing like a cat. Jared stroked up and into soft spiky hair, fingers shaping the skull beneath.

"I'm gonna go now," he said. "I'll be gone for a bit, a few hours at least."

Jensen opened his eyes, worry clear on his face.

"Be careful."

"I will. You be quiet. No answering the door, no phone calls, et cetera." Jared drew his hand back, clenching it to keep the warmth as long as possible. "Sleep. Anything happens, you call 911 and give a fake name, okay? I can find you again if I need to."

"Okay." Jensen sighed and drew his legs up. "I'm ... sorry, man."

"About what?"

"All this. It's all – everything's fucked up, and you're risking your life for me, and I don't even know why."

Jared stared down at him, a dozen responses on his tongue, none of them worth the breath it'd take to speak them. How could he explain it to Jensen, when he still couldn't justify it to himself? There was no logic, no rational excuse, no reason for him to be doing any of this. It was all just – instinct. Feeling. He looked at Jensen and _wanted_ him, all for himself, nothing and nobody to come between them, and there was no sensible way to make that sound anything less than insane.

Instead he leaned down, took Jensen's face in his hands and kissed him.

It wasn't careful. It wasn't sweet. It wasn't anything Jared expected. Jensen's lips were already parted; he made a choked sound in his throat when Jared flicked his tongue between them, and slid his hands into Jared's hair. Jared angled his head; kissed harder, deeper than he would have if he'd thought about it. Jensen didn't seem to mind; just sucked on his tongue like it was honey-flavored, completely open, letting Jared do anything he wanted. Long minutes of this, just kissing, their breathing jagged and harsh in the silence of the room, and Jared knew if he didn't stop now, right now, he'd have Jensen stripped and spread across the bed.

"Stop," he gasped, wrenching away, forehead resting on Jensen's cheek. "Enough."

"Not," Jensen murmured. He flexed his fingers, and Jared shivered in response. "Not enough."

Jared nuzzled into Jensen's neck, pressed a last kiss under his jaw and pulled away, willing his heartbeat to slow. Jensen had rolled to his back, and looked up at him now with half-closed eyes, bottom lip caught between his teeth.

"Enough for now. Get some sleep," he said, and Jensen laughed.

"You have _got_ to be kidding." But his flush was fading away already, leaving him paler than before, and he didn't move to leave the bed when Jared went toward the door, grabbing a muffin on the way. He paused there, hand on the knob, and held Jensen's gaze.

"Four hours. Maybe five. If I'm not back by sundown, call the cops."

Jensen nodded. Jared nodded back once, opened the door, and locked it behind him.

\- - - - - x X x - - - - - 

_Sunday, August 6, 2006_  
9:59 a.m.  
San Antonio, TX 

Jared traveled on foot via a twisted and confusing series of double-backs, seeming dead ends and backyard shortcuts that took him two hours to negotiate. Steve owned part of a converted warehouse in the industrial district; paid for with money made from his music, it wasn't under Admin's control. Jared wondered sometimes if they even knew about it.

The minute he walked in the door, his question was answered. Admin definitely knew. And if the way Christian was currently shoving a 9mm Beretta halfway down Steve's throat was any indication, Admin wasn't happy with the situation.

"Hi, Steve," Jared said, closing the door behind him.

He took in the scene: Steve tied to a chair with blood and bruises covering most of his visible skin. Chris was standing directly in front of him, side-on to Jared, almost straddling Steve's thighs in order to keep the gun where he wanted it. Two Neanderthals rounded out the scene, the type that had 'hired muscle' written all over them, standing at the back of the windowless room. There was a table and three more chairs to Jared's left, and a small curtained-off area in the far right corner that he knew hid a sink and toilet. That was it; all Steve could afford to hide from Admin. It had served them as a bolt-hole a time or two, but that was probably over now.

Jared leaned back against the door and crossed his arms.

"Should've told me you already had guests, man," he said casually. "I would've waited for a better time."

"Nah." Chris stepped back, letting the gun slide out of Steve's mouth, resting the muzzle on his chin. "The more the merrier, I reckon. Don't you think, Stevie-boy?"

"Go fuck yourself," Steve spat. "Jared, they were watching me, they followed—"

Chris lifted his hand and backhanded Steve's jaw with the gun, knocking him sideways in the chair. Jared heard the distinct crack of bone; he came away from the wall as if shot, hands clenched into fists. Chris swung around to face him and pointed the Beretta squarely at his head.

"Do it," he invited, his voice silky. "Come on, Jared. Gimme a reason, you little shit."

"You don't need a reason." Jared remained still with an effort, fingers itching to make a grab for the gun. No fucking _way_ was he going to let it all end here. "You got me cold, Chris, and I'm black marked. What're you waiting for?"

Chris smirked and flicked off the safety. Jared watched, narrow-eyed, as Chris breathed deep and sighted down the barrel. The minutes stretched out, silent except for Steve's labored breathing.

"You can't do it." He surprised himself with the realization; Chris jerked and his gun hand wavered, giving Jared confidence. "You haven't got it in you."

"Shut the hell up," Chris ground out, lips drawn back from his teeth. "I'll do you, Jared. I'll fucking blast your brains all over the goddamn _wall_ —"

"Bullshit." Jared cocked an eyebrow, forcing amusement into his voice. "If you had the guts, you'd have done it already. Give it up, Chris."

"Yeah." Steve sounded slow and drugged, voice liquid with pain, but the contempt came through loud and clear. "Stick to your fuckin' desk job, asshole. You suck at this."

Chris swung around again to face Steve, and Steve's upraised knee smashed into his groin with full momentum. Chris yelped and staggered away, dropping the gun, hands cupping his crotch ... and Jared moved.

He crossed the floor to stand between Steve and the two thugs, who were trying to circle around, herding him away. Jared feinted left, inviting a hit to his right side, and Thug #1 fell for it; he swung a ham-sized fist at Jared's side, coming within arm's reach. Jared's fist lashed out and connected with his temple; Thug #1 fell like a stone, out cold. Thug #2 growled and tried a swing of his own, and Jared elbowed him in the throat, half crushing his windpipe, barely waiting for him to sink to the floor before going to Steve's side.

A second later he was cutting through the rope and duct tape with his boot knife, watching Chris rocking in pain on the floor.

"Good aim," he said, pulling off the last of the tape. "Remind me not to piss you off."

"Thanks," Steve rasped. He brought his hands around, chafing them to encourage circulation. "It got pretty tight there for a while."

"Nah." Jared toed Chris's ribs, turning him onto his back. "There's a reason he works a desk. He never had the stomach for the job."

"Figured."

Steve limped over to the sink and started washing himself clean of blood. Jared stared down at Chris, hands fisting unconsciously at his sides.

"So what was the plan, Chris?" he asked. "Get me here, use Steve as a hostage so I'd tell you where I've got Ackles stashed? Two kills for the price of one, and a boost to your non-existent reputation?"

"Screw you," Chris panted, his face twisted in rage.

"You tried that. Didn't take." Jared poked his foot at Chris's groin, grinning without humor when Chris shied away. "I knew there was a reason I never let you fuck me. Should've known you wouldn't have the balls to do it right."

"Shut up." Chris struggled to his knees. "Shut your fucking mouth or I swear to God—"

"What?" Jared spread his hands. "What'll you do, Chris? Kill me? You had your chance. Nothing much else you can do that matters now." He shook his head. "Let it go, man. I just want out, that's all."

"You're not untouchable, Jared." Chris sat up on his haunches, the familiar smirk back on his face, tinged with satisfaction. "You really think we don't know where your boyfriend is?"

Jared's blood ran cold.

He stared at Chris, seeing the smug confidence in his eyes, the curl of his lip that said he was telling the truth. Jared's fingers tightened on the Beretta.

"Don't do this," he warned, throat dry, palms damp. "It'll end bad if you do. Just leave us be, Chris."

"You think I don't know where you've been _every minute_ since you went AWOL?" Chris went on, ignoring him. "I know you, Jared. I knew you'd come here. I know you're gonna head for the border. It's real romantic, Jared – you and your mark finding true love at the end of a gun barrel. It's a shame he'll be dead before you can make it back to the hotel."

Jared looked into Chris's smiling face and felt ... nothing. He was empty; blank; hollow. He watched Chris's expression change from complacency to terror as he slowly raised the gun.

"I can stop it," Chris said hastily, hands up to ward him off. "One phone call, Jared, I'll call it off, please—"

The shot sounded very loud in the enclosed space.

Jared let the gun fall and looked over as Steve emerged from behind the curtain. He nodded at Jared and reached for his cell.

"I'll take care of this. Go," he said, and Jared ran.

\- - - - - x X x - - - - - 

_Sunday, August 6, 2006_  
10:35 a.m.  
San Antonio, TX 

Jared stood just outside the motel room, flat against the wall, and listened. There was no sound from inside. He slid the key into the lock and heard the tumblers fall into place.

The door creaked open, and Jared let out a tense breath. Everything was ...

He went still.

Everything was exactly as he'd left it three hours before, with one significant change: Jensen was gone.

\- - - - - x X x - - - - - 

_Sunday, August 6, 2006_  
10:40 a.m.  
San Antonio, TX 

"What?"

Steve sounded irritated. Jared supposed that was fair, given the circumstances, but he didn't have time to discuss it.

"Someone's got Jensen. Not Chris's boys, I don't think. They'd have killed him on the spot. Which leaves—" Jared gripped the phone, praying he was right. "Where's the family hanging out these days?"

"Oh, you've got to be _kidding_. Jared, you cannot go after the fucking Mafia, okay?"

"I'm not. I'm just gonna get—" _what's mine_ "—Jensen back. He's no threat to them. They just don't know that yet. Soon as they do, we'll be out of here and it won't matter anyway."

"Man, you are so gone." Steve laughed in his ear, panting a bit, and Jared realized that _real friends help you hide the bodies_ actually had some meaning. "Okay, look. Try the Tex-Mex-Chinese place over on Wilkinson. Look for a guy named David. Tall, dark hair, good looking in a brooding kind of way. Walks around in a black overcoat like he's Don Corleone in training. And don't shoot the place up. The food's good and I don't wanna have to find another source of kung pao chicken fajitas."

"You're indecent, you know that?" Jared said, grinning despite himself. "Thanks, man. I owe you."

"Bet your fuckin' ass you do. This little fucker's _heavy_."

As soon as Jared hung up the phone, he went into action. His duffel was still under the bed where he'd left it; he upended it and sorted through the contents, looking for the appropriate tools. A few seconds later he was one his way out the door again, his plan set.

Find Jensen. Bring him back. Get the hell gone.

Simple.


	3. Chapter 3

_Sunday, August 6, 2006_  
12:48 p.m.  
San Antonio, TX

Okay, so Steve was right: the fajitas were pretty fucking good.

Jared ordered a plateful and a beer for appearances when he went in, but the smells of roasting meat and fried rice got to him, so he ate while he sized up the other patrons, looking for the man Steve had described. Half an hour later the guy came in, projecting _hey everyone, I'm a fuckin' gangsta!_ clear across the room. Jared kept an eye on him and finished his beer.

It had been two hours and thirteen minutes since he'd found the room empty. There'd been no blood in the hotel room. No signs of a struggle. Nothing to indicate violence of any kind. Which meant one of three things: Jensen had gone willingly; he'd been drugged or otherwise put out of commission; or he'd been coerced in some way. Jared was betting on the latter; it was hard to say no to someone holding a gun to your head, after all.

Jared's leg jittered involuntarily, something he'd trained himself out of years ago. He cursed under his breath and stilled, forcing himself to relax. Chris's deadline for the job had passed a while ago; Jared hadn't even blinked as the minutes ticked over.

Thank God, Dave the Gangsta was finally leaving. Jared threw a fifty on the bar – there were advantages to not eating at a table – and beat him to the door, melting into the shadows afforded by the alley next door to the restaurant. The guy came out a couple of minutes later, black cashmere overcoat draped over his shoulders – in August, for God's sake. Jared rolled his eyes; this guy needed to be bitchslapped just on principle.

He waited till the guy went past the alley, then stepped out behind him and flicked his left wrist. A six-inch steel blade slid out of the sheath strapped to his forearm, the point pressing lightly against the back of Dave's head.

"Don't even think about it, friend," Jared warned as the guy reached into his coat. "Just don't."

"What the fuck do you want?" Dave spat, standing rigid in front of him.

"A little chit-chat with your boss, is all. He took something that belongs to me, and I want it back." Jared prodded him with the knife. "Take me to your leader, sport. And don't even think about fucking with me. I'm not really in the mood to slit your throat, but that won't stop me if you piss me off. Let's go."

Dave led him to an office building two blocks down from the restaurant, perfectly bland and uninteresting. The sort of place that housed firms of CPAs and realtors and, apparently, underworld kingpins. There was a set of double glass doors at the entrance to the building, both of which were firmly shut and, Jared was willing to bet, bulletproofed. There was an intercom to one side of the doors.

Jared didn't even blink; the days of Mafia bosses hiding out in dingy, badly lit underground dens were long gone. It was called _organized_ crime for a reason.

"They gotta buzz me in from the desk in the lobby," Dave the Gangsta said. "Can't get in otherwise."

"Don't have your own key yet, huh?" Jared asked absently, then grinned when the guy stiffened in outrage. "Oh, now, don't be like that. You'll get your chance."

"Shut up," came the sullen answer.

"Fuck you." Jared twisted the point of the knife, hidden between his body and Dave's lower back. "Do what you gotta do and I'll let you go, and you can go extort money from crackwhores or whatever it is you do for kicks. But keep your fucking mouth shut or I'll do it for you."

Dave shot him a dark look over his shoulder and pushed the intercom button. Inside the foyer, a dark-haired, sulky-looking young man sitting behind a heavy cherry wood desk looked up. He saw Dave standing there and rolled his eyes; then he spotted Jared standing behind him, and all emotion left his face. Jared simply smiled at him, a _c'mon, me? I'm harmless_ kind of smile and dug the knife into Dave's kidney hard enough to break the skin.

"Dave, you know you're not supposed to bring people here without prior notice," said Desk Guy through the intercom. "Who's this guy?"

"I'm a friend of a friend of your boss," Jared murmured softly. "I invited myself back here, wouldn't take no for an answer."

"Shut your pie hole and let me in, Milo," Dave retorted. "I don't gotta explain my every move to you."

"Oh-kay," Jared said under his breath. Milo didn't seem to find the response unusual, though; he hit the door release with a scowl, which Dave promptly returned.

"Asshole," Milo muttered as they went by.

"Jerk," Dave threw over his shoulder.

Jared followed him to a bank of elevators to the right of Milo's desk. He stayed close, keeping his right hand as hidden as possible, though he knew there had to be camera surveillance set up somewhere. He couldn't believe nobody had even tried to frisk him yet; on the other hand, he wasn't exactly going to complain about it.

They stepped into an open elevator; Dave fished in his pocket, coming up with a blue plastic security key. He fumbled it into a slot and waited for the light to turn green, then hit the button marked "P".

"Penthouse suite?" Jared whistled. "Nice. Business must be good."

He looked at the row of buttons on the panel: seven floors including the penthouse. Five minutes to get down the fire stairs, give or take with Jensen's injuries; longer if they'd roughed him up more or knocked him out. Jared let those thoughts slide by, not dwelling on them except in a purely strategic sense; but his jaw clenched tight, and he had to will himself to stillness as the elevator ascended.

Dave was staring at the number on the LCD display, pretending Jared didn't exist in that strange way most people had when traveling between floors. Jared saw him flinch when the elevator stopped, looking over his shoulder. He seemed very young, although he was probably at least five years older than Jared.

"Why're you doing this?" Dave asked. "You're never gonna get out of here alive."

"We'll see," Jared said as the doors slid open.

He pushed Dave out first, just in case. There was no gunfire, though; no circle of gangsters awaiting them with weapons drawn. The elevator opened directly onto a room resembling a reception area, with two leather sofas facing off over a wooden coffee table artfully strewn with magazines. Beyond them was a desk of the same dark wood as Milo's downstairs, this one flanked by potted palms. Seated behind it was a young woman who was almost _too_ beautiful; long dark hair, sultry eyes and a killer smile. Jared guessed this was supposed to be disorienting, and if he'd been anyone else, it'd work. But he knew at least two other hot brunettes who could smile like that while they slit a person from chest to crotch, so the effect was kind of lost on him.

"David, David, David," the woman sighed. "What are we going to do with you, huh? You gotta stop getting yourself into trouble like this."

She didn't move from behind the desk. Jared guessed she was holding a weapon on them – armor-piercing rounds to get through the wood, probably, which meant a semi-automatic at least. His brain absorbed this new information quickly, fitting it into what he already knew. Professionalism of this kind from the receptionist, while impressive, meant adapting his plan. He'd have to be careful.

"Hello," Dave bitched. " _So_ not my fault this time, Eliza. This guy's had a knife shoved in my kidney for the past twenty minutes. What the hell was I supposed to do?"

"Well, you could've told me to fuck off and died like a hero," Jared said with a shrug. "Or you could've asked to make a phone call to smooth the way for this little visit. But don't be too hard on him, Eliza. I really didn't give him much choice." He smiled at her, white and wide. "Is the boss man in? I'd like a word."

"Name?" She looked at him expectantly, for all the world like he'd made an appointment.

"Dean Forrester." He winked at her. "Tell him we have a mutual friend by the name of Ackles."

_"Check him and send him in, Eliza."_

The voice emanated from the phone on Eliza's desk. Jared looked at her finger on the hands free button and realized she'd had the line open since the minute they walked in. _Very_ fucking impressive.

Eliza stood up and came around the desk, shooing Dave away to sit on the couch. She smiled again at Jared and tilted her head.

"I assume you've been frisked before," she said.

"Not in a while." Jared grinned back and held his arms out to the sides. "Be gentle with me."

She was quick and efficient, finding the four-inch blade he'd stashed at the small of his back for show; but she wasn't quite good enough. Jared breathed a sigh of relief when she patted his ass and stepped away with a nod.

"Okay."

He saluted her as she ushered them to a door to the left of her desk; she gave him a faint smile in return as she opened it, and Jared wondered what the hell she was doing here working for these punks.

"Mr. Forrester, Uncle Jeff," she announced, and well, that answered _that_ question. Jared eased through the door and stood just inside the room with his hands in plain view. Eliza shut the door and he heard the lock snick into place.

"Mr. Forrester. Please have a seat."

Jared stayed where he was.

"I'll stand, thanks. I won't be here long."

He took in the room with one glance, noting points of entry and egress and obstructions to same, then directed his gaze to the man at yet another cherry wood desk (did they buy them in multiple lots?) and kept it there. Every detail was clear in his mind, however: the men standing on either side of the desk, one older, the other clearly a bodyguard; the bookshelves lining the walls; the wet bar to the left of the desk under an excellent reproduction of The Last Supper; and Jensen. Tied hand and foot to a chair and gagged, eyes wide and focused on Jared. He didn't appear to have been injured further, but Jared had to sublimate a surge of pure rage at the sight of him trussed up like a side of beef. So he didn't look; he pasted a pleasant smile on his face and prepared to have a civil conversation with the head of the San Antonio Mafia.

"I didn't catch your name," he said politely.

"I didn't give it." The other man grinned, leaning back in his chair. "My name is Morgan. Mr. Morgan, to most people. You can call me Jeff."

"Mr. Morgan. I'll keep this short." Jared nodded in Jensen's direction. "Let him go."

Morgan considered him for a moment, tapping his chin. Jared let him look, watching Jensen in his peripheral vision. He wasn't struggling; his gaze was fixed on Jared, waiting. Jared fluttered the fingers of his right hand in the slightest of movements - _chill, just wait_ \- and Jensen relaxed a little.

"I don't think so," Morgan said at last. "I went to a great deal of trouble to get hold of him."

"He's no threat to you."

"Am I supposed to take your word on that? Or his?" Morgan shook his head. "You don't know what you've stumbled into here, Mr. Forrester. This young man is a threat to everything I've built over the past twenty years. I'm not about to let you waltz him out the door."

"If that's the case, why haven't you killed him yet?"

"I wanted to have a little chat first." Morgan sat forward in his chair. "We were just getting to that when you interrupted us."

"Sorry." Jared shrugged. "But you'll have to excuse us now. Places to go, things to do. You know how it is."

He started toward Jensen, and found three guns trained on him before he'd taken more than a couple of steps.

"I don't think you were listening before," Morgan said, cocking the .38 in his hand. "I said no."

"I heard you." Jared turned sideways to present a smaller target. The movement hid his right arm from view; he flicked his wrist, and four small throwing knives dropped into his palm. "I just don't care."

Morgan fired. Jared dropped to the ground and rolled, ignoring a flare of pain along his collarbone. He fetched up on his knees in front of the desk, letting the knives fly from his fingers; the two subordinates dropped like stones, the blades finding their marks in necks and eyes. Morgan faltered, and Jared took his chance; he was around the desk and holding the hidden six-inch blade to Morgan's throat before the other man had time to correct his aim.

"Don't do anything stupid," Jared said, drawing the knife lightly over Morgan's skin, just enough to sting. "I don't want to kill you."

"You're a dead man, Mr. Forrester." Morgan's voice was steady. "Your life will be over the minute you walk out the door."

"You think so? I'm not so sure," Jared mused. "You see, I find it very curious that a man in your position would worry about a scion of the old family remaining alive, especially when he's a freaking _physical therapist_. Unless of course, you're not all that secure in your position. And see, _that_ makes me wonder if anybody in the family hierarchy would really be all that upset if I sliced your throat open and let you bleed out all over this lovely rug."

Morgan went stiff in his hold. Jared could smell the nervous sweat starting to pour off him; it was a familiar smell, but not one he wanted to experience for long. He needed to get Jensen out of here.

"You can't kill me. You don't dare," Morgan said. "You'd never be safe again."

"I haven't been safe in six years."

Jensen made a sound then, trying to say something through the gag. Jared glanced at him; Jensen was shaking his head, his voice muffled and unintelligible, but the message was clear enough. _Don't kill him._

Well, okay then.

Jared drew Morgan closer to his body with his left arm, restraining him, and brought his right up to find the pulse points in his neck. Firm pressure for thirty seconds, and Morgan's eyes rolled back in his head and he slumped in Jared's hold, unconscious. Jared dumped him back in his chair and checked on the other two men. The younger one was dead, a knife protruding from his eye; the other was still alive, but barely, blood pumping steadily from around the blade buried in his carotid artery. Jared hesitated for a moment, but there wasn't anything he could do. If he called for help, they'd end up dead. He put a hand over the man's eyes, then drove his knife deep into his chest. _Coup de grâce_ was an outdated notion these days, maybe, but he couldn't just leave the guy there.

Jared retrieved his throwing knives and wiped them clean, then went over to Jensen, who was straining at his bonds. Two careful cuts loosed his arms, and Jared left him to untie his legs while he took the salvaged rope over and secured Morgan to his chair.

"Hey, gimme that—" Jared started – and then Jensen grabbed his shoulder and swung him around, and Jared forgot what he'd been about to say. Jensen's grip was bruising-tight, almost punishing, and his jaw was clenched so tight Jared felt his own teeth aching in sympathy. But the look in his _eyes_ , oh _Christ_ ...

"Don't you ever - _ever_ \- do that again," Jensen said fiercely, and yanked Jared's head down, crowding into Jared's body and mouth until they were so close they shared each other's breath.

He'd never been kissed like this. Like he was air and Jensen was suffocating, like kissing Jared would save Jensen's _life_. They were literally feet away from being shot, there was no guarantee they'd make it out of here alive, and there was still Admin to deal with once they found out Christian was dead – but none of that mattered right now, because Jensen was kissing him, Jensen was making a move on _him_ , and that was just about worth dying for.

That was why they were in the middle of this mess to start with, after all.

So Jared set his back to the desk and hitched himself up on it without breaking the kiss, pulling Jensen between his thighs. Jensen's hands clasped his jaw, his thumbs pressing in, and Jared opened his mouth wider in response. He put his hand low on Jensen's left hip, dragging him closer, and groaned when he felt heat and hardness against his thigh. Jensen grunted against his mouth, tongue swiping over Jared's lips and between, and oh God this was so not a good idea but Jared honestly didn't have it in him to stop. He just let Jensen in, let him push and thrust and tangle his tongue with Jared's own, and only when Jensen started scrabbling at the button on his jeans did Jared come back to earth.

"Hey," he managed, pulling away – God, that mouth – and trying to catch his breath. "C'mon. Not now. We gotta – we need to get out of here."

Jensen's hands were still on his face; he smoothed his fingers against Jared's cheekbones over and over, as if hypnotized. He didn't meet Jared's eyes for a minute; just watched his hands, hips pressing tight against Jared's. Finally he sighed and stopped touching him, stepping back to give Jared room.

"Okay. Sorry. I just – okay."

Jared reached for him without thinking, pulled him in again and kissed him, hard and fast.

"Don't apologize," he said. "Just – hold that thought, all right?"

"Okay," Jensen said again, but this time he met Jared's gaze, and the heat in his own was _scorching_.

"Fuck me," Jared breathed, half to himself, and Jensen's mouth quirked in a small grin.

"That's the idea." He looked pointedly at his watch and looked over the top of his glasses at Jared, eyebrow cocked. "Shouldn't we be going?"

"Okay, no, fuck _you_ , you bastard," Jared growled. "Come on. Think you can manage seven floors of stairs?"

"If I'm sufficiently motivated, yeah."

"Is 'get your ass moving or you're not getting laid' motivation enough?"

Jensen grinned. "It'll do."

Jared picked up the gag off the floor and knotted it securely around Morgan's mouth. He was half-tempted to kill him; it felt wrong to leave an enemy alive at his back, where he might cause trouble later. On the other hand, he supposed it unlikely that Morgan would come looking for them after this. And even if he did, Jared planned for them to be far out of his reach.

He approached the door to the reception area and put his eye to the old-fashioned keyhole, but there was nothing in his field of vision except the opposite wall. He heard nothing, not even the sound of someone breathing, and wondered what had become of Dave and Eliza. Were they out there, waiting for him and Jensen to show themselves?

Only one way to find out.

Jared reached for the lock and turned it as quietly as he could. There was a soft click as it released, and the doorknob rattled the slightest bit despite his tight hold; but the door was well-oiled and opened silently. Jared eased it wide enough to peer through, but his stealth was wasted: the room was empty.

"Unbelievable," he muttered under his breath.

There was a surveillance camera fixed in one corner of the ceiling, with a clear view of the elevators. Jared slipped through the door and hugged the wall until he was underneath it, then flicked the long blade out of its sheath and reached up, cutting the AV cables that ran into the wall. Thank God for eight-foot ceilings. They wouldn't be able to evade the cameras in the lobby, however. The fire stairs would have to do.

"Someone's going to notice that," Jensen pointed out.

"I hope so." Jared went over to the elevator, leaning through the open doors just enough to hit the button for the lobby. "It'd be unprofessional if they didn't. We, meanwhile, are going to have to skip out the back door. Not very polite of us, but ..."

"Places to go, things to do?" Jensen said with a smirk, and Jared's gut clenched with want.

"Exactly."

The elevator doors slid shut, and Jared indicated the fire exit to the right.

"Shall we?"

\- - - - - x X x - - - - - 

_Sunday, August 6, 2006_  
1:02 p.m.  
San Antonio, TX 

The mystery of Dave and Eliza's disappearance was solved on the fifth floor. Jared heard a muffled sound and looked down the stairwell, and there was Dave, back pressed against the hand rail, Eliza climbing him like a tree. She appeared to have an impressive lung and suction capacity. Jared grinned and waved Jensen away, back toward the sixth floor.

"What?" Jensen whispered.

"We need to find another way down." Jared peered through the window in the exit door. It opened onto an empty hallway, nondescript offices on either side. "I think we can get to the other stairwell from here." He looked over at Jensen, noting his paleness and the sweat on his upper lip. "You all right?"

"Yeah. Just tired." Jensen nudged him. "Come on. I wanna get out of here."

Jared drew a breath and pulled the door open, wincing as it echoed in the hallway. There was no need to worry, however; this floor appeared to be home to the nine-to-five crew, and it was just after one o'clock. Lunch time rush hour in the rat race. They were practically home free.

"I could carry you," he offered as they entered the fire stairs on the other side of the building. Jensen snorted and thumped his shoulder, and Jared grinned. "No, really. We'd be out of here in two minutes flat. You weigh about one-sixty, right?"

"One-ninety-five, thank you _very_ much, asshole," Jensen informed him. "And, no. You wanna carry something, go buy yourself a Pekingese."

Jared stifled a laugh, and they carried on downward.

\- - - - - x X x - - - - - 

_Sunday, August 6 2006_  
1:09 pm  
San Antonio, TX 

"That," Jared said as they emerged into an alleyway outside, "was far too fucking easy."

Jensen looked at him like he was insane.

" _Easy_? You want something more challenging than sneaking into a Mafia boss's inner sanctum and overpowering him and getting away without so much as a scratch? Christ, what the hell do you do for fun, Jared – wrestle lions?"

"Well. When you put it like that – okay." Jared waved a hand. "Maybe we got a little lucky."

"Just a little." Jensen's voice sounded a little odd. "And maybe you're damn good at your job, too."

Jared grinned. "Maybe." He looked up and down the alley. "We need to go that way. So, let's go this way instead. Throw off anyone who might be on our tail."

"Jared."

He turned around, and sucked in a sharp breath at the look on Jensen's face. The burning want was back full force, eclipsing the green in his eyes and turning them dark. Those fuck-me lips were parted, inviting, and Jared could clearly see the outline of Jensen's erection against his thigh.

"Yeah?" he forced out, throat dry and tight.

"We're going this way." Jensen pointed back over his shoulder, not looking away. "Straight back to the hotel. We are going there now. We are not passing 'Go', we are not collecting two hundred dollars, and I don't _care_ if someone spots us on the way because if I don't get you in me soon, I am going to die of sexual frustration." Jensen took a step forward. "Okay?"

"... okay." _Jesus_ yes, that was okay. That was so okay Jared thought maybe he'd come just from hearing it.

"Good." Jensen motioned him forward. "Lay on, MacDuff."

Jared went.

\- - - - - x X x - - - - - 

_Sunday, August 6, 2006_  
1:21 p.m.  
San Antonio, TX 

They got a cab back to the hotel. The trip took twelve minutes and cost nineteen dollars, and by the time they reached their room Jared was wound so tight he almost couldn't breathe. Jensen stood right behind him as he fumbled with the key, warm and waiting. His breath blew softly past Jared's neck, raising the fine hairs there.

"Come _on_ ," Jared muttered, fighting to get the key in - and then the lock clicked open and he practically fell through the door, Jensen pushed him so hard. He stumbled, hearing it slam shut, and then there was a bed under him and Jensen coming down on top of him and oh, thank _fuck_ they were _alive_.

Jared reached up and caught Jensen's face in his hands for a moment, just looking; then Jensen slid his glasses off and leaned down, and Christ, he'd been waiting for this moment for _weeks_. Jensen's tongue in his mouth, hands in his hair, cock burning hot against his hip when Jared spread his legs wide. He swallowed the noises Jensen made into his mouth, the urgent grunts and stifled moans, changing the angle of the kiss to get closer. Jensen crawled right up his body, sitting on his haunches across Jared's lap, knees planted outside his hips. He had one hand in Jared's hair, holding him still, and the other gripping a handful of shirt at his back, and Jared was so turned on by that he couldn't think. He didn't do this, never let others control him in bed; but Jensen was kissing him hard and sweet and desperate, grunting in frustration as he tried to stay upright and grind down into Jared's lap at the same time. He sucked Jensen's tongue into his mouth, licked over and around it, hands as far down the back of Jensen's pants as he could get. He stroked the warm, slightly moist skin above the curve of Jensen's ass, slid one hand around to palm the hard thrust of his cock, and Jensen made a noise deep in his throat and bucked into his hand.

"Off," he panted between kisses, yanking at Jared's shirt. "Naked. Naked. _Fuck_."

Jared let him pull at the t-shirt, lifting his arms to get it over his head and shoulders; Jensen tossed it over the edge of the bed without looking, already kissing him again while he worked at the button on his jeans. Jared tried to take a breath, focus a little so he could help, but all he could do was clutch at him and rub against him and _want_. He shoved his hands up under Jensen's shirt, finding his nipples and teasing them to hardness; Jensen's whole body _rippled_ , and despite his gasp of pain, a second later the shirt was flying across the room. Jared grinned into the kiss and began to play, fingernails and calluses scraping over the sensitive skin until Jensen was clawing at his back hard enough to draw blood.

"Like that, huh?" Jared whispered into his mouth, and Jensen let out a strangled moan and wrenched at Jared's jeans. The button came loose with a sudden twist, and then Jensen was pushing through denim and cotton to get at his cock.

"Mother _fucker_ ," Jared said in complete sincerity with Jensen got a hand on him. "Oh, fuck me, Jensen, you fucking gorgeous—"

He ran out of air and speech when Jensen started to jerk him off, slow and sure, and leaned in to kiss him at the same time. Jared closed his eyes and remembered Jensen doing this alone in his bed in the middle of the night, all this wildfire sensuality going begging – and then, without warning, his control snapped. He gripped Jensen's shoulders and twisted, shoving him down flat on his back and groping at his pants. Jensen's hips were off the bed before Jared opened his mouth to ask; he stripped off the rest of their clothes in seconds and was back five seconds later, hovering over Jensen on hands and knees.

"M'gonna fuck you now," he murmured, nuzzling into Jensen's neck while he stroked down to fondle his cock. "Okay?"

Jensen spread his thighs wide in answer, and Jared settled carefully between, trying to keep his weight on his elbows. He heard Jensen's sharp inhale as their hips made contact, and his heart sank when he saw some of the sex-flush fade from his face.

"Hurt?" he asked, palm hovering over bandaged ribs. Jensen nodded, but his mouth was set in a stubborn line, and he flattened one hand on Jared's lower back when he tried to move away.

"Don't even think about it," he said. "I'm not _dying_ , Jared – I just can't bench press two-fifty right now, okay? Look," and he turned onto his left side, pushing Jared over to lie behind him. "This is good. This'll work." He rubbed his ass back into Jared's crotch, sinuous, like a cat. "See?"

"I – yeah. Yeah, okay," Jared said. " _Hell_ yeah."

Thirty seconds later there was a tube of K-Y and a condom on the nightstand and Jared was sliding two lubed fingers into Jensen's ass, fucking him leisurely and deep, his knee high up between Jensen's thighs to give him better access without putting pressure on the knife wound. Jensen humped back into his hand, stretching easily around his fingers, and Jared wondered just how many late-night jerk off sessions he'd missed in the Ackles household.

"How often?" he asked, voice gone rough with want. "How many times have you done this to yourself? How deep? How hard? Tell me, Jensen, tell me what you like." He stroked deep, enjoying the tease, and Jensen cursed and shuddered around him.

"Not – not often enough," he said, a bare breath of sound. "Oh, right _there_ , yeah, fuck – God, Jared, your hands are huge, I can't ..." He turned his head restlessly on the pillow; Jared twisted his fingers and Jensen threw his head back with a moan, soft hair sliding across Jared's shoulder. "Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me," he chanted. "Now, Jared, or I'm gonna come. I want you in me when I come."

Jared met his half-lidded gaze and nearly choked. Jensen was pure sex in his hands, and by Christ Jared was done with waiting. He drew his fingers out slowly, leaning over the bed to wipe them off on his shirt; then he was tearing the condom open and rolling it on with shaking hands.

"Hurry," Jensen said hoarsely. Jared looked up to see him jerking off with slow, tight strokes, drawing his knee up higher. "Jared ..."

Jared licked all the way up Jensen's spine, biting down on the curve of neck and shoulder. He fit himself against Jensen's body, cock nestled between his thighs, and braced Jensen's bent knee with his arm, holding him open.

"Ohgod," Jared said when he started to push inside. So fucking ... "Oh holy fuck, Jensen, you're so - _tight_ , smooth and tight, oh my fucking God—"

"—yeah." Jensen was panting, bearing down and back to take more, reaching back to pull himself further open. "More, c'mon, give me – oh, _fuck_ yes, God, Jared, Jared..."

Then he was in, all the way in, and Jensen was blood-warm and vise-tight around him, and Jared couldn't remember feeling anything this fucking perfect, ever. He tried to hold still, let them both get used to it, but his cock wanted friction and his hips moved without his volition, a single short, deep thrust that felt like every nerve in his body was being caressed.

Jensen cried out and ground back into it, surprise clear in his tone. Jared did it again and Jensen _shoved_ back, shaking under him, breath already short and choppy, but that note was there again in his voice, curiously out of place. The third time, Jared hit his prostate and Jensen jolted, going rigid for a moment. Jared tried to ignore the pleasure sparking in his nerves long enough to pin down Jensen's reaction; when it clicked, his heart stuttered.

" _Virgin_ ," he breathed, and Jensen flinched. "Jesus wept, Jensen, you fucking—"

He reared back and balanced on his left arm, turning Jensen's head roughly to get to his mouth. The kiss was hard, fast and dirty, as dirty as Jared felt right now with his cock buried deep in Jensen's willing, _virginal_ ass and oh, this was just not fucking fair. He cut off a whimper before it could gain voice, pulling away from Jensen's mouth and planting his forehead on one freckled shoulder. Jensen was squirming, trying to move, and Jared realized he'd gone still, their fledgling rhythm lost.

"C'mon," Jensen panted, reaching back to palm Jared's ass, "don't pussy out on me now. Fucking _move_ , Jared."

"Bossy fucker," Jared grunted. He thrust deep, drinking in Jensen's broken moan.

"Yeah." Jensen rolled his hips back. "Wanna make something of it?"

"I'm tryin'," Jared shot back. He twisted on his next thrust, and Jensen arched his back a little more; suddenly the banter was over and Jared had his hands full. Jensen was incoherent and quicksilver in his hold, sliding up and back and fucking himself on Jared's cock, stripping his own with quick hard strokes.

"Oh, my God, Jared," and Jensen's voice was trembling, "fucking Christ, this is – harder, right there right _there_ , yeah, oh Jesus, I fucking love this." He slammed back as Jared fucked in again, flesh slapping on flesh, the impact spreading right to Jared's fingertips. "More, Jared, I need more, c'mon ..."

Jared tried to hold back, fixing his gaze on the small row of black stitches he'd put in Jensen's skin, searching for control. His cock slid like a piston in and out of Jensen's ass, gripped by tight slick warmth, and the urge to just let go and fuck himself blind was strong. He held on to his sanity by a fingernail: _this_ deep, and no deeper; _this_ hard, _this_ fast, and Jensen wouldn't get hurt.

Then Jensen rolled away, lay face down on the mattress and spread his legs wide, tilting his hips up and back.

" _More_ ," he demanded. He was completely open; Jared saw his slick, pulsing opening flushed pink with fucking, and all thought disappeared from his head. He slid up over Jensen's back, braced on his elbows, and pushed back in with a growl.

Jensen's ass squeezed him in half a dozen sweet spots. He circled his hips, and Jensen choked on a moan and drew up his knees, crouching under him. Jared pulled out almost all the way, keeping just his cockhead inside, and reached around to find Jensen's cock standing hard and wet against his belly. He slicked his fingers with pre-come and curled them around, jacking Jensen's cock tight as he fucked in, once, twice, and then Jensen came apart under him, heaving and babbling incoherently as he spurted warm over Jared's hand.

Jared stopped breathing, hips snapping forward in spite of himself; he slammed into Jensen's ass in a series of shallowhardfast thrusts, and on a final push felt everything in him rush outward, coming in spasms that left him weak and gasping for breath. He tipped onto his side, bringing Jensen down with him, hand planted firmly over Jensen's heart.

\- - - - - x X x - - - - - 

_Sunday, August 6, 2006_  
1:58 p.m.  
San Antonio, TX 

Virgin. He'd been a fucking virgin, and Jared hadn't guessed.

Sometimes life could be a real kick in the head.

"Can I ask you something?"

They were sprawled over the bed, Jared tucked against Jensen's side, head resting on his chest, his arm slung over Jensen's waist. Jensen was trailing his fingers over Jared's arm in a lazy caress.

"Ask away," Jensen said around a yawn.

"Why on earth do you go around looking like one of the nerds who never got any revenge?"

Jensen's hand stilled on his arm. "What?"

Jared lifted his head to catch Jensen's eye. He shrugged, tracing patterns on the smooth skin of Jensen's chest with one finger.

"I just wondered, is all. First thing I thought about when I saw you. I mean, you're pretty much the hottest guy I've ever seen, but you go around dressing in clothes I wouldn't use as washrags. You were a model, for crying out loud. Your portfolio was in the fucking dossier." He raised an eyebrow. "What happened?"

Jensen looked at him for a moment, his expression shuttered. Jared waited, not blinking, and eventually Jensen sighed and half-shrugged.

"I just ... got tired of it," he said, twining their fingers together on his belly. "People treat you differently when you're pretty – they think you can give them something, or they try to _take_ it from you. I learned that the hard way. I got sick of it, so – I stopped being so fucking pretty." His mouth twisted on the word _pretty_ , and Jared sensed there was more to the story than he was hearing. He shifted, turning over to lie on his stomach between Jensen's legs, his chin resting square on Jensen's solar plexus.

"Dude, you're not pretty," he said, grinning wickedly. "Not by a long shot. I'm the pretty one; fucking _hot_ is what you are."

Jensen brought his hand down to trace over Jared's mouth, edging one fingertip inside. Jared nipped at the end, curling his tongue around it and suckling lightly. He watched Jensen watching him, feeling them both getting hard beneath the covers.

"You are pretty," Jensen murmured. "Pretty eyes, pretty mouth, pretty hands, pretty ass." His other hand left Jared's grip and slid down his back, shaping itself to the curve of the ass in question. "Such a pretty ass."

"You want it?" Jared rasped, all thought of teasing gone. He reached back to press Jensen's hand harder against him, rolling his hips. Jensen's gaze burned into him, his cock a hard hot pressure against Jared's hip. "It's ... been a while. But ... yeah. If you want."

Jensen closed his hand over firm flesh, fingers slipping into the dark warm crease between.

"I want."

"It's all yours." Jared stretched, kissing his way up Jensen's chest, opening his thighs in invitation.

"Here we go again," Jensen said against his mouth, and Jared laughed.

\- - - - - x X x - - - - - 

_Sunday, August 6, 2006_  
2:10 p.m.  
San Antonio, TX 

The spirit was willing – no, strike that, the spirit was pretty much _demanding_ it – but the flesh proved too fucked out to rise to the occasion. Jared thought he should maybe be embarrassed about that, but on reflection it was a wonder they weren't both dead of coming like geysers the first time around. He felt drained, replete and utterly satisfied, and by the look on Jensen's face he was in a similar state. Jared figured it wasn't too big a blow to their manhood if they took a while to recover. Like, half an hour maybe.

Jensen stretched, a full-body shimmy that arched his back and splayed his legs, his cock spent and quiescent. Jared shifted onto his side and let his eyes wander, feeling a twitch deep in his balls.

Maybe fifteen minutes.

Jensen rolled over to face him. His eyes were lazy, heavy-lidded with incipient sleep, and Jared shelved his plans for the time being.

"Tired?" he said softly.

"Mm. Wore me out." Jensen rolled further, burrowing into Jared's body. "We going anywhere soon?"

They should move on; today's events were guaranteed to piss off Admin's upper management when they got wind of it, and he wasn't entirely sure Morgan wouldn't try something to salvage his damaged pride. They had a little time yet, though.

"Not for a while," he said at last, pressing a kiss to Jensen's temple. "Sleep, if you want."

Jensen mumbled something into his neck and cuddled closer. Jared wrapped his arms around him and lay there, feeling their hearts beating, wondering when he'd turned into such a goddamned sappy fool. He fell asleep still wondering, and slept without dreams.

\- - - - - x X x - - - - - 

_Sunday, August 6, 2006_  
3:21 p.m.  
San Antonio, TX 

Something woke him a while later; some dim sound or shift of light that wasn't natural. Jared went from asleep to wide awake in half a second and lay still, trying to place it.

There was a soft shuffling in the hallway outside. It wasn't the housekeeping service; Jared knew that sound down to the squeaky wheel on the maid's trolley. This was the sound of someone trying to muffle their approach.

He drew carefully away from Jensen and stood up, reaching for his duffel bag. His fingers closed over the Glock, and then the silencer; a few seconds later the two were joined and Jared was moving silently toward the door, gun held low. He sidled along the wall and knelt down, ear to the crack between door and wall, and listened.

Stealthy footsteps approached the room, slowed and stopped directly in front. Jared gritted his teeth and stood, flicking off the safety. He positioned himself squarely in front of the bed and waited.

"Hey," came a hoarse whisper from outside. "Hey, it's me. Let me in, quick."

Jared started at the words, but before he could react he heard a door click open. Across the hall, it sounded like; the footsteps faded away, and the door shut again. He stayed in position for several minutes, just in case, but when no further sounds were forthcoming he relaxed and thumbed on the safety, putting the gun away.

They had to get out of here. Next time they might not be so lucky. They'd stayed too long as it was.

Jared went back over to the bed, settling on his hip next to Jensen. He looked better; not quite so pale, some of the tension gone from his face. He was sprawled on his back, arms flung above his head and the sheets in a twisted mess about his hips. Jared stared at him, picturing Jensen in this same position with leather cuffs around his wrists, tied to the headboard of Jared's oak bed. His cock twitched at the idea, and he made a note to revisit it later. First, though, they had to get out of this mess. He wanted to take his time getting to know every inch of Jensen's body, and he couldn't do that while they were on the run.

"Hey." He leaned over and stroked through Jensen's hair, then shook his shoulder gently. "Wake up, man. Time to go."

Jensen stirred and grunted sleepily, arms flailing a bit before his eyes fully opened. He peered up at Jared owlishly, then smiled the sweetest, hottest smile Jared had ever seen.

"Hello, you," Jensen said in a husky voice.

He slid a hand up Jared's chest and around his neck, pulling him down for a soft kiss. Jared leaned into him for a moment, indulging himself; then he pulled back with a sigh and trapped Jensen's wandering hand against his belly.

"We gotta go," he said. "It's not safe here anymore."

Jensen reached one-handed for his glasses on the nightstand and slid them on, his gaze sharpening immediately on Jared's face.

"Is your assassin spidey-sense tingling?"

" _Something's_ tingling," Jared muttered as he watched Jensen crawl off the bed, stark naked. "Uh, yeah," he added when Jensen turned around. "We stay here any longer, we're inviting trouble."

"Okay." Jensen went into the bathroom and left the door ajar. "Where're we going?"

"Don't know yet. West, for now. I wanna get out of Texas." That wasn't strictly true, but the room could be bugged and old habits died hard.

The sound of running water obscured Jensen's reply, if there was one. Jared went over to the window to scope out the parking lot while he waited. They needed to switch cars and plates. He spotted a couple of likely candidates in the lot and hoped he remembered how the hot-wiring thing went.

"A'right." Jensen's voice preceded him out of the shower. "Ready to go. 'M starved, though. Can we stop somewhere on the way to wherever we're going?"

It was still a shock to see him in clothes that actually fit. Jared ordered himself to quit staring and moved to pick up his bags.

"Yeah, of course. Sorry, Jen, I should've thought..."

"You had other things on your mind." Jensen's voice was dry. "Like saving my ass. Which, you know, I _understand_." He cocked his head. "Did I say thank you, by the way?"

Jared looked at the tangled mess they'd made of the bed, then raised an eyebrow at Jensen and grinned.

"I think so, yeah."

Jensen's gaze went hot; he licked his lips and shifted, adjusting the fit of his pants.

"Right," Jared said and cleared his throat. "Okay, then. Let's, uh, get out of here, huh?"

Jensen brushed past Jared to the door, his cock clearly outlined against the close-fitting khaki material. Jared smothered his urge to throw him down on the bed and followed, nudging Jensen behind him while he checked the hallway. He thought again, _virgin_ , and couldn't stop the smile that crossed his face or the purely masculine triumph that followed it.

"Don't gloat, Jared," Jensen said primly. "Makes the payback sting more when it comes."

"Bring it, Dallas," Jared shot back. "Double-dog-dare you."

"Oh, you're on." Jensen was suddenly right up against him, warm breath raising shivers on Jared's neck. "You better not plan on driving too far, because I _will_ fuck you senseless on the side of the road if I have to."

"Promises, promises," Jared managed, and opened the door. "Okay, let's go."

\- - - - - x X x - - - - - 

_Sunday, August 6, 2006_  
5:31 p.m.  
Laredo, TX 

They only got as far as Laredo before they stopped again. Jensen was still pretty beat up, and Jared was so tired he couldn't see straight. They checked into a motel off US-83 and all but fell into bed. Exhausted as he was, Jared still remembered to tuck his Glock under his pillow; then Jensen rolled into his side and Jared put an arm around him, and was out like a light in seconds.

\- - - - - x X x - - - - - 

_Monday, August 7, 2006_  
12:34 a.m.  
Laredo, TX 

He couldn't place what woke him at first; flashbacks of the hotel in San Antone had him tensing, and then he felt Jensen's hand sliding down over his belly, seeking his cock, and his tension rearranged itself in a hurry.

"Awake?" Jensen asked in a low voice.

"Yeah."

It was dark outside, midnight or thereabouts, and the dull rush of traffic was audible through the walls. Jensen's hand moved further, circling him and squeezing. Jared let his legs fall open in invitation; Jensen shifted to kneel between his thighs, stroking maddeningly slow.

"Let me blow you." The words were dark, whiskey-soaked, honey-sweet. "Can I, Jared? Please?"

 _Holy God._ Jared bit his tongue, tasted copper-salt, and tried to force his lungs to work. When that failed, he reached for Jensen, kissed him deep and short and pushed his head down. Jensen went easily, kissing his way along, murmuring soft sounds of pleasure that sent Jared's head spinning. He breathed in deep when Jensen's mouth reached his cock and hovered there, waiting. Jared looked down and saw Jensen looking right at him, eyes full of an unnamed emotion, lips parted and wet in the light filtering in from the street. They stayed like that for a split second, poised on the brink; then Jensen smiled his sweet, open smile and took him in, and Jared fell in love.

A virgin Jensen might have been, but he knew how to suck cock. Soft-hard pressure all around, slick clever tongue rubbing along the vein and toying with the nerves clustered under the head, licking along the slit with every sign of wanting more. Jared propped himself on an elbow and watched, his other hand on Jensen's cheek. Jensen tilted into the touch and opened wider, letting Jared see his cock sliding in and out of that perfect whorish mouth. It was enough to make him hiss and tighten up, trying to stave off his orgasm. Jensen grinned around him and sucked harder, his head bobbing faster, showing glimpses of his bare back and ass as he went down.

Jared could see him jerking himself off one-handed as he serviced him; he wanted to tell Jensen no, to save that for him to do, but he couldn't find the words and his mouth wouldn't voice anything beyond _oh Christ yes Jensen beautiful fucker don't ever ever stop God_. Then it was too late, he was tensing up and grunting a warning and coming thick and hard down Jensen's throat, and Jensen was wiping his mouth and fisting his cock faster and coming all over Jared's cock and thighs. It was gross and messy and utterly wonderful. Jared fell asleep in the middle of trying to say so, but he felt Jensen wiping him off and then cuddling up next to him once more, so he figured he'd gotten his point across.

\- - - - - x X x - - - - - 

_Monday, August 7, 2006_  
7:07 a.m.  
Laredo, TX 

Jared woke up with the sun, feeling more refreshed than he should, all things considered, but not about to waste it. He moved around the room silently while Jensen slept, booting up his laptop and braving a cup of so-called coffee from the vending machine outside.

The first thing he did when his laptop powered up was try to access Admin's web interface, borrowing an unsecured wireless connection from the motel office. He fully expected his login details to be rejected, but it wouldn't hurt to try. He'd have thirty seconds to disconnect before they could run a viable trace.

 _LOGIN ACCEPTED_ , read the splash screen. _REDIRECTING._

A second later the VPN came online, fully accessible.

Jared rubbed a hand across his eyes, not sure if he was seeing things. He was in. Like it was any other day, like none of the shit with Christian had ever gone down. Like they didn't even ...

Immediately the thought registered, he froze. Oh, no. No way. He couldn't possibly be that lucky. Could he? Could _they_?

He dove for the mouse and clicked rapidly through the hoops that protected Admin's HR database. Upper management was a paranoid bunch; they didn't want the employees knowing anything about each other, up to and including how many of them there were. Jared had figured his way past their firewalls a few years back, however, and he was pretty sure he wasn't the only one to do it. Admin had some serious blind spots for a firm in their line of work.

He found what he was looking for with a few more clicks, the evidence of Christian's – arrogance? stupidity? He wasn't entirely sure – subterfuge in plain view. _Personal leave, Christian Kane, 6-8 August 2006_.

"Jesus fucking Christ," Jared whispered. "He did it on his own."

"Jared?"

He looked over at the bed. Jensen was awake, levering himself upright against the headboard. He looked at Jared with an expression that bordered on concern.

"Are you all right? You look like my aunt Martha did the day the minister goosed her."

Jared let out a surprised bark of laughter and shook his head.

"You do say the sweetest things to me," he said, turning away from the computer. "How're you feeling?"

"Just fine." Jensen stretched carefully, hissing a little when he raised his arms. His grin was pure wickedness, though, and his eyes on Jared's reclining body were appreciative. "Endorphins do a body good."

"Flirt."

"Bet your ass." Jensen blew him a kiss, then came over to sit across the table from him. "Something's on your mind, I can tell," he said. "Bad news?"

"No." Jared scratched his neck, his mind already calculating how to turn this new information to their advantage. "No, I don't – I think, maybe, it's the opposite. I may have found a way to—"

The idea came to him in a single thought, breathtakingly simple. He almost couldn't believe it could work.

"Jared?" Jensen leaned forward. "Earth to Jared. You still in there?"

"... yeah." Jared shook his head again and blew out a breath, trying to think clearly. "Sorry. I was just thinking."

"About?"

"Getting out of this in one piece." Jared turned the idea over in his head once more, looking for loopholes, weak points, anything that might bring it down. There was nothing. It was airtight. It was _perfect_. Except for ... well.

"Seriously?" Jensen stared at him. "How?"

"I'm still working it out. But, Jensen ..." He hesitated. This was the part that was going to suck. "If what I've got in mind works, we're home free with no-one the wiser. But that's it, you understand? I can't fix it all, man. I can't give you your life back, much as I'd like to. I'm sorry."

He didn't look at Jensen as he spoke, keeping his eyes on his hands. He didn't want to see the pain and anger there. The plan would get everyone off their backs long enough for them to leave the country; maybe longer if they were careful. It was the best thing he could think of to do; the only way out he could see for them. But it meant starting over from scratch a long way from home, and that was a hell of a thing to have to do.

"Wait. Back up a minute." Jensen's hand covered his, surprising Jared into looking up. Steady green eyes met his gaze. "You're going to try and get the Mafia and your guys off my back, wipe the slate clean without either of us getting killed, and you're apologizing?"

He squeezed Jared's hand and smiled, tilting his head. "Man, have you got a martyr complex or what? You've been keeping my chestnuts out of the fire since all this started, and if you can do it again I'm not gonna bitch about having to move to Paris or wherever. You're the only reason I'm alive right now. I trust you. If you think it'll work, do it."

Jared stared at him, the pretty face grown familiar but no less affecting for all that. Jensen returned his look without blinking or wavering, and Jared wondered at the kind of strength it took to literally put your life in the hands of a known killer.

"You're an idiot," he said at last, almost growling. "A stupid, trusting, gorgeous, incredible idiot, and I l—"

He stopped, flushing hot all over. He didn't – had never – said that. To anyone. Feeling it was one thing; admitting it was something else, and Jared wasn't good at being vulnerable.

Jensen seemed to understand. His smile brightened enough to make Jared blink, and he leaned across the table for a short, almost chaste kiss, lips barely parted.

"Yeah," he whispered into Jared's mouth, the single word sending him reeling. "Yeah, Jared."

Jared turned his hand in Jensen's grip and twined their fingers together, holding tight. His chest felt full enough to burst, his pulse raced, and he kept flashing from hot to cold and back again. Jensen's other hand rested on his jaw, stroking lightly. Jared turned his face into the touch and kissed his palm.

A moment later they were back on opposite sides of the table, and the world started turning again. Jared cleared his throat and shuffled his feet, ignoring Jensen's quiet glow of contentment.

"So what's the plan?" Jensen asked, his feet colliding with Jared's under the table. "How do we escape the raving hordes intent on giving me a closed-casket funeral?"

Jared sat back in his chair and grinned widely, steepling his fingers.

"Simple," he said. "I'm going to kill you."

\- - - - - x X x - - - - - 

_Monday, August 7, 2006_  
3:12 p.m.  
Chicago, IL 

Chicago was a pain in the ass. Summer, winter, it didn't matter. The weather sucked, the people sucked, and it was too close to Canada for his liking. Jared spent as little time as possible there, preferring to report to Admin long-distance. He still ended up having to go to HQ three or four times a year, however, for long-term debriefings and – no pun intended – admin purposes, mainly to authorize the transfer of his commissions into his private account. He hadn't been in since early April, when Chad had gotten drunk on daiquiris and tried to get in his pants.

Chad was another reason Jared didn't much like Chicago. Little fucker had tentacles for hands.

Admin's headquarters were located in one of the high-rises downtown. Jared didn't know what it was called, and didn't much care. The operation took up two floors above ground and three below, accessed via an exclusive elevator from the main entry. He walked through the building's revolving doors with his hands in his pockets and his fingers crossed. If this plan was going to fail, it was going to happen now.

He took the elevator down to the entry in the first basement level, praying he wouldn't stumble over anyone he knew. Tom was probably still off, with his wife being in hospital; Mike was on a job; that left Chad as the only person he had to deal with, and that couldn't be avoided.

"Jared!" Chad bolted upright in his chair when Jared strolled up to his desk. "Where's my Jackson, asshole?"

"Hi, Chad. Nice to see you too." Jared held out a folded twenty and grimaced when Chad all but ripped it out of his hand. "Where's Chris?"

"Don't know." Chad shrugged. "Took a couple of personal days, said he'd be back tomorrow. You need to see him?"

"Yeah. Typical." Jared leaned against the desk. "I haul ass all the way in here for a debriefing, and he flits off to Bermuda to work on his tan." He sighed. "Guess I should go update my files while I'm here. Wanna key me in?"

"Yeah, whatever." Chad waved him over to the smaller elevator set into the wall opposite the desk. Chad hit a few keys on his keyboard and the doors opened. Jared went in and turned around, holding his breath; Chad flipped him off with a smirk and closed the doors. The elevator moved smoothly downward, and Jared allowed himself a silent sigh of relief. Stage one complete.

His office smelled of dust and burnt coffee, just like always. Jared flicked on the computer and pulled Jensen's dossier out of his duffel, looking through it while the system came online. The photographs beckoned as they always did; he flipped through them again, pausing on the new additions to the file. A shiver went through him as he looked at them. So much blood. The visual record of another job wrapped up. One more to add to his tally. Jared Padalecki, retiring undefeated with a grand total of thirty-seven kills in four years. Way to go, bud.

The computer chimed, awaiting his login details. Jared shook himself and put the photos away. None of that mattered now.

It was the work of a few minutes to download his report and soft copies of the photos from his jump drive. He erased the drive completely after the download and threw it in the disposal chute. The hard copy file he sealed in an envelope marked "Archives" and left in the mail tray at the end of the hall.

Only two things left to do.

Jared brought up the audio monitoring system and logged in with Chris's details, getting lucky with his password after five attempts. He found the recording of their phone conversation – God, was it only two days ago? – and recorded over it with one and a half minutes of white noise.

That done, he logged back in with his own details and accessed his bank account. A single transfer wouldn't raise any eyebrows until someone did a routine check on his account, and by that time Jared would be long gone.

He entered the number of his brand-spanking-new private Swiss bank account on the transfer screen and effected the transaction. The second his Admin account showed a zero balance, he pulled out his cell and hit a speed dial button.

" _M'sieur Jared_?"

"Pierre," he said. "You can confirm receipt?"

" _Oui_ , we have it," came the reply, and Jared muttered, " _Merci_ ," and ended the call.

He shut down the computer, left the office as tidy as he'd found it and went back to the elevator.

"Yo, Chad," he said into the intercom. "Beam me up, Scotty."

Chad scowled at him when the doors slid open on the main entry floor.

"I hate it when you say that," he grumbled. "Makes me feel like a geek."

"You _are_ a geek, Chad," Jared said innocently. "But that's okay. Women dig geeks. Wil Wheaton is living proof of that."

"Screw you, man." Chad looked down at the magazine on his desk, then flicked a hopeful glance back up. "Wanna get a drink later?"

"Can't. Gotta run. Got a date." Jared shrugged. "Rain check?"

"Sure, fine." Chad was already tuning him out, now that the potential for sex – however limited – was gone. "Get out of here, I'm busy."

"See you."

Jared flipped him off in payback and sauntered toward the main lobby elevators, forcing himself to stay calm. Just a little further. A few more seconds and he was home free. He realized his heart was racing, and he had to physically force himself not to run.

Daylight hit him square in the face as he exited the building. It was the same daylight he'd shielded himself against on the way in, hot and glaring, but now it seemed infinitely better. Jared stopped halfway down the block in the middle of the sidewalk and just stood there, breathing, savoring the sensation of being truly _unfettered_. Then he started walking again, toward a certain hotel and an uncertain future, not a single solitary plan in sight.

\- - - - - x X x - - - - - 

_Monday, August 7, 2006_  
3:56 p.m.  
Chicago, IL 

"You fucker." Jensen glared at him from beneath a towel, red-faced and blotchy. "You said this stuff would come off easy. I'm fucking covered in it, and it _itches_."

Jared closed the door behind him and locked it, leaning back against the wood for support. They'd done a passable job of making Jensen look like he'd been shot in the chest and head. It wasn't fancy, wasn't what the client had ordered, but Jared figured it'd do (and screw the client anyway; it wasn't like he needed their business anymore).

Jensen made an absolutely ridiculous picture: hair standing up in sticky clumps, traces of blood and brain matter on his face and neck, his chest still bearing remnants of the latex chest plate Jared had stuck on him. He was wet and covered in corn syrup and glue and he looked very, very pissed.

"I love you," Jared said. "Wanna come with me to Tijuana?"

Jensen stared, dripping all over the white hotel rug.

"Well, let me think about it, you moron," he said, and crowded Jared up against the door.


	4. Chapter 4

They ended up settling in Belize.

It was Jensen's idea. Jared was happy to go anywhere, and Jensen always wanted to visit the tropics. So they went to see a man Jared knew, who set Jensen up with a brand-new identity complete with passport for a grand in non-sequential bills. Two days later Dean Forrester and Alec Guevara were on a plane out of O'Hare, Chicago's skyline falling away behind them.

Jensen never looked back. He saw Jared watching him during takeoff, maybe expecting him to freak out. Jensen just smiled and leaned in to kiss him until he felt Jared relax.

"Onward and upward," he whispered. "No second thoughts, Jared. Promise."

"Okay," Jared whispered back, and stroked his neck. "Okay."

\- - - x X x - - - 

"Home sweet home," Jared said, shouldering the door open wide. "For a while, anyway."

Another hotel, but the Radisson was a world away from the off-highway motel in Laredo. Jensen walked into the room with his duffel on his shoulder – now considerably heavier since Jared took him shopping in Chicago – and stopped short. Waterfront views, lush trees and blue skies as far as the eye could see, and the most comfortable looking bed in the world right in front of him.

"This," he said, "is fucking gorgeous."

Jared broke into a wide smile, throwing his bag on the bed and coming over to him. His hands settled warm on Jensen's neck and jaw, framing his lips for Jared's kiss.

"Glad you like it," Jared murmured into his mouth.

"I like _you_ ," Jensen said softly. He dropped his bag and twined his arms around Jared's hips.

"How much?" Jared asked, mouthing at his jawline.

"Just," Jensen swallowed, "a little. You know. As buddies."

Jared's breathy chuckle sent a shiver down his spine. "Buddies, huh. Just good friends?"

"... uh-huh."

Jared's hands slid around his back and down to the waistband of his jeans, fingertips just grazing the small of his back under his shirt. He tugged Jensen closer, lips closing over the sweet spot under his ear.

"Okay, _really_ good friends," Jensen managed. "God, Jared. How are you so fucking hot?"

Jared pulled back to look at him, keeping their hips pressed together. His eyes were darkening with want as Jensen watched, cock twitching and stirring against Jensen's own.

"That's my line," Jared said hoarsely. He looked Jensen up and down, hands flexing on the upper curves of his ass. "You're the hot one, remember?"

"Pretty, then." Jensen put his hand on Jared's cheek, smoothing up to his temple and into his hair. "So fucking pretty."

So fucking amazing, Jensen didn't have the words to tell him. Jared saved his life and shook it upside down; changed it so completely Jensen almost didn't recognize himself anymore. He never thought about going back, though. Not even if he could. He didn't want to be anywhere without Jared, period.

"You mentioned something a while ago," Jared said, and he sounded so hesitant Jensen blinked. "About ... my pretty ass. Remember?"

"Yep." Jesus, did he remember. He'd been half-dead from pleasure, but at Jared's offer he'd done his best to get it up again. They'd been too tired, though, and the subject hadn't come up again until now.

"So." Jared blew out a breath and didn't meet his eyes. "You wanna?"

Jensen went rock-hard. Instantly. His hand tightened on Jared's back as if he might try to move away. He pulled Jared in by his hair, tonguing deep into his mouth, hips hitching against Jared's thighs.

"What do you think?" he breathed when they parted, lips almost touching. "Get on the fucking bed, man. Now."

Jared's shaky laugh struck a chord in him; he backed off and saw a hint of uncertainty in the warm green gaze.

"Hey." Jensen stroked Jared's hair away from his face. "No big deal if you're not sure, Jared. I'm not keeping score here."

"Please. You're a guy. Guys always keep score." Jared grinned and shook his head. "I'm sure. Just – take it easy, huh? Like I said, it's been a while."

He pulled Jensen back in, one hand palming his cock through his jeans. Jensen kissed him again, sweet and easy, coaxing Jared's tongue into his mouth and sucking on it till they were both breathing heavily in the silence of the room. Jared's mouth slid down his neck, finding that sweet spot and sucking hard; Jensen clutched hard at his back, parting his legs around the hard thigh Jared thrust between them. They moved clumsily toward the bed, Jared walking backward, falling across it with Jensen atop him, hip to hip and chest to chest.

"Hi," Jensen said, looking down at Jared's flushed face. He was smiling like a loon, and he didn't give a damn.

"Hello," Jared murmured. "Don't I know you?"

"We've met." Jensen ducked his head and kissed the hollow of Jared's throat, dragging his tongue along the line of his collarbone. "You're the guy who followed me home one day. Haven't been able to get rid of you since."

Jared's low rumbling laugh vibrated through Jensen's entire body, raising the hairs on his neck and arms. He pressed himself down harder to feel it, his cock nestled snugly alongside Jared's, rocking unconsciously against hard warmth. Jared slid his hands down Jensen's back and kissed him again, something almost submissive in his manner.

"Fuck me," he said. "I want to feel you in me. Do it hard."

Jensen swallowed; his throat clicked audibly, mouth gone dry with need. He nodded jerkily and slid off Jared's body, standing up to strip out of his clothes. Jeans, shirt, shoes and socks all hit the floor in record time, followed by Jared's own clothes flying across the room as he twisted out of them on the bed. Jensen paused in reaching for the lube and condoms stashed in his duffel, struck by the way Jared's body moved, bending, flexing with ease. A dozen scenarios flashed through his mind. Jared bent over a couch, legs spread wide and begging for it; on the hood of a car, urging Jensen on with arms and legs tight around him; hovering over Jensen's prone body, riding strong and hard, sweat gleaming on golden-tan, muscled skin.

Jared reclined on the bed, one arm held out to him, the other tucked behind his head. He was flushed and hard and Jensen could see his hand trembling, echoing the shakes of sheer _feeling_ wracking his own body.

"Christ, I love you," Jensen said without thinking, and Jared inhaled sharply, eyes flaring with naked want.

"Come here, goddamn it. I can't fucking _wait_ —"

Jensen was already on the bed and snaking his way up Jared's body. He stole the rest of the sentence right out of Jared's mouth, hands busy with cold gel and warm flesh; loving Jared's gasp and push against him when he wrapped a hand tight around his cock. Jensen jacked him slowly, kissing deep, pushing Jared's thighs wide open with his free hand; Jared bent his knees without prompting, tilting up into Jensen's hand when it left his cock and slid back to rub lightly at his entrance.

"C'mon," he panted against Jensen's mouth, hips making little thrusts. "Don't tease, Jen. Little stretching, that's all I need. God, I want you."

He leaned up and bit Jensen's lip, soothed it with his tongue, and Jensen gave in and slid his index finger into him, testing. Jared hummed and pressed up, trying to take more; Jensen stroked deeper, and Jared's voice hitched and broke on a moan. Jensen pulled back and slid two fingers back in, deeper again, rubbing all the way around Jared's opening with his thumb. Jared's heels dug into the bed and he raised his hips clear off the mattress, his thighs spread almost to a straight line.

"Jesus holy fucking Christ." Jared's voice was barely a gasp, but his eyes were wide open, unseeing. "You're – oh, fuck – too much. Too much. I ... Jesus ... Jen, stop. Stop. God."

Jensen froze; he pulled away slowly, stomach flipping in dismay. Jared's face was set and rigid, eyes closing, his breath shaky and uneven. Jensen sat back between Jared's thighs and waited, pulse racing, praying he hadn't fucked something up. He'd pushed too hard, or read Jared wrong, or done something to make Jared change his mind—

Jared's eyes snapped open again, sharpening on Jensen's face. One huge hand came up around his neck; Jared dragged him down and kissed him almost savagely, his heart beating a rapid tattoo under Jensen's hand.

"Okay. Okay."

Jared fell back against the bed. He sounded harsh, broken, but his face was as open as Jensen had ever seen it. Hiding nothing; baring all the want, the need that lay between them. Jensen looked at him and couldn't breathe, seeing his feelings mirrored in Jared's eyes.

"Okay," he repeated, his own voice just a breath. He leaned over Jared's body, kissed the center of his chest, and with a hand on his cock began to guide himself inside.

Warm, tight, slick; the words flew in and out of his brain, jumbled in sensation. Jensen closed his eyes and concentrated on not coming in the first ten seconds, determined to give Jared what he wanted. Hard, he'd said.

Jensen could do hard.

He eased in slowly, giving Jared time to adjust, feeling him give way around every inch with delicious friction. He snapped his hips once, involuntarily, and Jared jerked and hissed, legs scissoring around Jensen's hips, ankles hooked tight across his back. Jensen grinned and did it again, slower; Jared's neck arched in a curve that begged for kisses, and a string of curses and blasphemy fell from his lips.

"Right there, huh?" Jensen murmured. "Okay. I got you, baby. Hang on," and then he began to fuck. Deep, hard thrusts, stroking Jared inside and out, hand twisting tight on his cock with every slam back in. Jared was trying to thrust into him, but Jensen's weight held him down, splayed him open, so he had to take what Jensen was giving.

"Know how long I've wanted this?" Jensen asked, bending down to lick the sweat rising on Jared's chest. "Every," _thrust_ , "fucking," _thrust_ , "day," _thrust_ , "since I met you." _Hard_ thrust, hard enough to shake the bed frame, and Jared made a choked sound deep in his throat and scrabbled at Jensen's back, trying to bring him closer. Jensen left off fucking for a moment and stretched up, meeting Jared's lips, tongues clashing in silky wet combat. He couldn't hold the position for long without slipping out; pulling back, he grinned wickedly at the sight of Jared speechless and almost mewling in need, twisting restlessly under him.

"This is what you do to me," he whispered, and fucked deep with all his strength.

" _Jesus_ ," Jared said faintly; then without warning he was coming apart in Jensen's hands, tremors running through his body, thick white streaks splattering warm and pungent across his belly and Jensen's hand. Jensen fucked him through it, grinding hard, milking him until there was no more and Jared flinched away, tender.

Jensen propped himself on both hands and thrust again, feeling himself begin to follow, the tingle starting deep in his balls. Jared opened lazy, half-lidded eyes and smiled at him; he felt a warm hand fondling him where their bodies joined, and that was it. He arched his back and pumped deep into Jared's ass, every muscle straining, collapsing on Jared's chest in a boneless pile as the strength left his limbs.

"Holy mother of God," Jared said, and kissed his temple. "Man, you _suck_ at this."

Jensen growled, unable to muster the energy to hit him. "Fuck you."

"That's the spirit."

He really did want to hit him, Jensen thought. And he would. As soon as he could move again. But then he felt Jared gently removing the condom and shifting him around, spooning around him, and he decided it could wait until later.

END


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Timestamp: five years later.

_March 2, 2011_  
5.56pm  
Belize 

Jared sucked on his smarting knuckles and silently cursed whoever chose these particular deadbolts for these particular doors. They'd done their job properly, sure, but it was making _his_ job particularly fucking hard right now, which was the last thing he needed. He had a lot to do and a limited timeframe to do it in. He needed to be in and out of this place before Jensen finished work, or he'd never beat him home.

Jared flexed his fingers and took his picks out of his mouth, inserting them into the lock with a delicate touch. This was his third attempt. If he couldn't get in this time, he'd have to try from scratch tomorrow, and that would bring down his fee. Not that he needed the money, but Jared liked to have some way of keeping score.

He probed carefully with the picks, keeping an ear out for the random security patrols, which weren't actually random but followed a prime-number pattern if you watched them long enough to spot it. He should have another thirteen minutes before he was interrupted, assuming the guard didn't decide to live dangerously and make his rounds early. Then again, if Jared couldn't get this lock open in thirteen minutes he deserved to be caught.

A hair to the left with the top pick, a nudge to the back with the other ... ah, that was it. Jared listened to the gentle click of tumblers in satisfaction. Stage two complete. Stage one had been getting into the building, the easiest part of the whole operation. He'd been here since midday, holed up in the disabled restroom with a pair of crutches. He already knew the cleaners' routine; they wouldn't be in until the early morning, and he'd be at home in bed long before then, wrapped around Jensen.

The thought of Jensen brought a smile to Jared's face. They'd had a few rough patches over the years: mostly over the use of Jared's _fucking blood money_ , but they'd worked things out over time. Most of the money was gone, donated to local charities, and the rest used to buy a small but comfortable bungalow for the two of them. Jensen went straight back to work after they were sure they were safe; first working at a local hospital, later branching out into private practice.

And Jared ... well, Jared was putting his peculiar mix of skills to good use. He'd found a compromise that didn't bore him to tears and made a reasonable amount of money, and he had people lining up to hire him. It was just like the old days, only nobody would kill him if he fucked up the job. He stuck to South America and Europe these days, but that wasn't so bad. There was good coffee everywhere he went.

Jared eased the door to the executive suite open an inch and paused, eye to the crack to see if there were any second-line traps—silent alarms, lasers, and so forth. He couldn't see anything, so after a moment he pushed the door open, revealing the lushly furnished interior office. A plate glass window formed the wall behind the ornate teak desk on the far side of the room, currently providing a stunning view of the harbour as the sun set. Jared ignored it—his and Jensen's living room had a view ten times better—and edged silently around the walls of the office until he reached the painting on the southern side.

Thirty seconds later he was spinning the dial on the CEO's safe, entering the combination and shaking his head when the door clicked open. In the end, it was almost too easy. He had a full complement of tools with him, but he hadn't needed any but the most basic of them to get right into the inner sanctum.

He worked quickly, getting what he needed and leaving an envelope with a discreet logo on the front in exchange. Then he sent his client a quick email via his BlackBerry to let him know the job was done, sealed up the safe and the office, and headed for the fire stairs.

From there it was a simple matter to wait for the guard to go on his rounds, exit the building via the after-hours door and he was home free. Another job well done. Although he had to admit it wouldn't have been half so easy if the staff in this place had even a shred of loyalty; Jared had weaseled the safe combination out of the CEO's personal assistant after only three drinks and half an hour listening to her woes with a sympathetic ear. He was going to have to mention that in his security report. All the technology in the world wasn't worth spit if it could be undone by the flapping of a loose and bitter tongue.

Jared didn't waste time congratulating himself. He slid behind the wheel of the Jag, gunned the engine into a well-mannered roar and hightailed it home. He had just enough time to finish things off before Jensen got there and he didn't intend to let anything fuck up the plan now.

Twenty minutes later Jared was in the kitchen, opening a bottle of wine. He heard Jensen come in from the garage and turned around to lean against the counter. His hands were sweating.

"Honey, I'm—" Jensen sang out, then stopped dead as he walked into view. "—home," he finished blankly, staring at the table.

"How was your day, dear?" Jared asked brightly, handing over a glass of merlot with a chaste kiss on the cheek. Jensen accepted the glass without a word, staring from the table to Jared and back again, mouth open.

"Drink up," Jared said. "The entrées are getting cold." He escorted Jensen to the table and seated him, dropping another kiss on the top of his head and sitting down to his left.

"What _is_ this?" Jensen asked, still gaping.

"It's called food," Jared explained, stamping on the urge to grin like a moron. "People like to eat it so they can stay alive, or so I'm told."

"Shut up," Jensen said, recovering enough to roll his eyes. "I mean—did you do this?" He waved a hand at the spread on the table. "I don't even know what half this stuff is."

"Taramosalata, dolmades, grilled haloumi, cabbage leaves, slow-roasted lamb, baklava and galaktobouriko," Jared rattled off, pointing at each in turn. "And coffee, of course." He grinned at the look on Jensen's face. "You seem surprised."

"You told me you couldn't cook!" Jensen accused, pointing with his fork as he began loading his plate. "You said, and I quote, 'I'm about as useful in the kitchen as tits on a boar hog'! This is ... I'm going to kill you. With this fork." He nodded at the implement in question, currently loaded with dolmades. "Right after I'm done here. Oh my God, these rice things are amazing. I hate you so much."

"I can tell," Jared said dryly, and dodged Jensen's kick under the table. "Don't start throwing cutlery at me yet, or you won't get this."

He produced an envelope from his pocket and set it on the table. Jensen paused with half a cabbage roll on is fork in midair, eyes wide.

"What in holy fucking hell have you done?" he asked in a completely level voice.

"Open it and find out," Jared invited. His leg was jittering. Everything depended on what happened in the next few seconds.

Jensen slowly reached for the envelope. It looked flimsy and fragile in his hands. Jared hoped appearances were still deceiving when it came to Jensen, or he was fucked.

Jensen opened the envelope and looked askance at the contents.

"What ..." he began, and tipped a silver signet ring onto the table. There was a note inside as well, a few lines in a bold feminine hand. Jared knew what the note said. The ring and note had come to him via the post office box he used to keep in touch with Steve. He'd been debating telling Jensen about the delivery for a week; now was as good a time as any.

"Happy birthday," he said, trying for casual.

"I ... wow." Jensen put down the note and reached for the ring, rolling it in his fingers. "That's a hell of a thing."

"It's good, though, right?" Jared prompted. "I mean, Eliza's basically given you the all-clear now that she's calling the shots. She's a bit brighter than her uncle, at least."

"Yeah," Jensen agreed, frowning at his hands. "So ... I guess I can go home again, huh." He darted a look at Jared. "Great."

Jared let out a careful breath. "If you want."

"What about you?" Jensen's eyes were very green. He still wore glasses, but Jared felt the impact of his gaze as much as ever.

"I'm still black marked," he said. "Chris made sure of that. Steve says nobody's much interested in me these days, but that doesn't mean it's safe. All it'd take is one hotshot with 'scope sights and my game's over."

"Okay." Jensen pushed the note and ring aside and picked up his fork again. "Did you say this was lamb or beef?"

"Lamb," Jared said absently. "Uh ... what does that mean?"

"What does what mean?" Jensen asked, spearing a potato.

"'Okay'," Jared repeated.

"It means Eliza can roll up her welcome mat and set it on fire for all I care," Jensen said calmly. "We're not going back there until and unless it's safe for both of us." He met Jared's gaze. "Okay?"

Jared's knees turned to water. "... okay."

Jensen smiled, slow and warm, a glint of humour in his eyes.

"Okay."

Jared turned his attention to the food, suddenly starving. He filled his plate and topped up their wine.

"Like I said before," he said, holding out his glass, "happy birthday."

Jensen's glass met his with the solid chime of crystal.

Stage three complete.


End file.
